The Fall of Dragons
by KingOfWinter
Summary: Ever since Torrhen Stark bent the knee, the North has been planning it's revenge. 280 years later, Aerys attempts to burn Rickard Stark alive; he survives at the cost of his eldest son, a debt he desires to repay. The North will throw off the dragons that have kept it subjugated and show the seven kingdoms who are one, why you do not insult the 8000 year old direwolf.
1. Chapter 1

Jamie Lannister's hands tightened on the grip of his sword, while he watched Rickard Stark get dragged into the throne room of the Red Keep. He had been attacked as he entered the city, dragged from his horse along with the Northern nobles riding with him and brought before the king. The other nobles were already dead and Rickard Stark fared little better. Blood streamed from a cut above his eye, while his lip was swollen. His long, solemn face was emotionless, his grey eyes cold as he was forced to his knees before the Iron Throne.

King Aerys Targaryen grinned down at him, looking all the world like a gargoyle with his long uncut nails and unruly hair. "Stark." He barked "Your son is a traitor. He threatened my son. He insulted my house. You CANNOT INSULT THE DRAGON!"

Aerys rose form his chair with the last few words, glaring down upon him. "Bring in his son. Let them see each other one last time before they die!"

Minutes later Brandon Stark was similarly dragged into the throne room. He was forced to his knees beside his father. His hair and clothes were unkempt from his time in the Black cells and his left eye was swollen shut from a blow he had taken when he was arrested. He held himself gingerly, as though he had several broken ribs.

"What do you two have to say for yourselves? Any last words before you die?" Aerys asked.

Rickard tilted his head slightly and glanced at his son. Neither spoke a word.

Aerys shifted, unused to anyone ignoring him. "I am your King and you will answer me!"

Rickard shifted his gaze back to the king. "I demand a Trial by Combat." He said, so softly that everyone had to strain to hear him.

Jamie's heart sunk in his chest as he realised what Rickard Stark had asked for. He knew what would happen now, and now both of them were truly lost.  
Aerys grinned and cackled maniacally. "The champion of house Targaryen is fire Lord Stark. You will burn like a roast on a spit! SEIZE HIM!"

The guards rushed forward and seized Rickard before suspending him from the rafters. On the floor Brandon Stark began to struggle. "You whoreson! Your son stole my sister! What about justice for him? Give him a sword to defend himself with!"

Aerys glared at the heir to the north. "You want a sword grab one." He nodded at his guards who bound a strange leather device around his neck

"Ser Jamie" The King called and Jamie almost fainted. "Your sword!" He cried. Jamie nodded and drew his sword from its sheath before ascending to pass it to the king. The king nodded and threw it just out of reach of Brandon Stark. "Grab the sword and you can free your father. Else he dies."

With that he nodded to his pyromancer who stepped forward with a jar of wildfire in his hands. Brandon stood there watching, clearly unaware of what was about to happen.

Jamie watched him though and he glanced up at the roof where two white ravens were perched. Jamie frowned. He had never seen white ravens before except the ones the citadel used to announce the coming of winter.

As he watched the two ravens flew down from their perch on high and attacked the pyromancer. He stumbled back as the birds attacked his eyes and hands.  
The pyromancer rushed away from the mad birds, and towards Ser Jonothor Darry, who drew his sword and hit one of the birds out of the air. The other flew out of reach and started cawing loudly. The pyromancer stepped forward once more and threw the jar at Rickard's pyre. It landed and began to eat the wood hungrily, the flames already beginning to lick Rickard Stark's armour.

At this Brandon Stark truly began to struggle. He rushed forward in a vain attempt to seize the sword, but the leather device only tightened around his neck. He growled and Jamie was distracted by the first of Rickard Stark's screams. It cut through the air like a knife through butter and Jamie quickly swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. It would do no good to show weakness now.

Brandon was now bent over as Rickards screams continued, Brandon's face purpling as he struggled agasint the choker around his neck. As Jamie watched however, darkness rippled around Brandon Stark and his form seemed to drink in the lengthy shadows of the throne room. His skin darkened, and the hair on his body lengthenged. His mouth turned into a muzzle lined with teeth, and his fingers turned into savage foot long claws. As it staggered to it's feet a howl burst forth from it's lips. He watched in horror as the thing that had been Brandon Stark stood up to it's full height.

It seemed to be some half man, half wolf hybrid. It stood taller than any other man in the room and was broader than even Gregor Clegane. It was a hairy, brutish beast and as he watched it clenched its neck causing the choker that Aerys had ordered to be placed around it's neck to burst off. It immediately turned and ran to Rickard Stark, leaping through the flames to save him.

The weight of the beast snapped the ropes that bound Lord Rickard and together the man and beast tumbled to the Red stone floor. With Lord Rickard safe, the beast turned to the King who was perched upon his throne. The beast growled deep in its chest and took a single step towards the King.

This seemed to shake the entire room from the stupor that had taken over it and the guards rushed forward to stop it. The first to reach the beast was Ser Jonothor Darry, who was gutted and killed so quickly it was pathetic. Prince Llewyn Martell rushed forward to distract the beast while the Lord Commander and Ser Barristan Selmy rushed to protect the king. Jamie shuffled his feet, unwilling to go forward but unwilling to go back.

More guards rushed the beast but it was all to no avail, with an ease almost bordering on contempt, it threw five the guards into the walls with a single swing of its massive arms. In the next swing it caught Llewyn Martell's head in its paw like grasp and crushed his skull. The doors burst open then and more guards rushed into the room. The beast took them all on, and soon their blood decorated the walls.

Everyone began running from the room, the king already whisked away. The beast turned around and his grey eyes fellow on Jamie. Its eyes bore into him with a hate so intense that he felt water running down his leg. It took a step towards him but stopped when Rickard Stark groaned. It seemed torn for a moment before turning and rushing to Lord Stark's side. It picked the burnt lord up with a gentleness that belied the violence it had displayed earlier and rushed from the throne room and out into the Red Keep.


	2. Chapter 2

Ser Gerold Hightower sighed as he climbed the steps of the White Tower. He knew what was coming now, what the realm had been building towards for the last few years.

War.

As he thought on the day's events he shivered uncontrollably. Whatever the thing was that had been Brandon Stark, it had been an absolute terror throughout the city, killing 37 guards, 102 goldcloaks and two sworn brothers of the Kingsguard, before disappearing to only the gods knew where.

He mourned as he thought of his lost brothers. In his heart it kindled a burning desire for revenge, but if the army the north fielded had even 10 of those abominations, it would be one hell of a fight.

As he entered the solar of the White Tower, Gerold observed the state of his surviving brothers. Ser Barristan Selmy was sitting in front of the hearth staring blankly into the flames, while Jamie Lannister was perched on the windowsill, staring off into the distance. Tears dripped down his face as he sobbed silently.

"Boy" Ser Gerold said, "Are you alright?"

Jamie continued to stare out of the window. After a moment's silence he opened his mouth. "It stared at me." He said. "It looked at me… it was filled with such hate. But the scariest thing, was its eye's. They were Brandon Stark's eyes. Grey, cold and angry…and knowing, knowing who did this too him."

The tears were streaming down his face now, the sobs bidding from his lips uncontrollably.

"All I ever wanted was to be in the Kingsguard" He continued. "To be seen with knights like you and Ser Arthur Dayne… and now I'm here and I want nothing more than to leave. To go back to Casterly Rock."

Gerold moved forward and patted the boy on the shoulder. "Come now, you swore an oath. You cannot abandon your king in his hour of need. We have a duty and we need to fulfil it."

In his seat by the fire, Ser Barristan stirred. "I have been raised in the light of the seven my whole life, but I cannot deny the power of these old gods."

Ser Gerold snorted. "Surely you do not believe that… that… abomination…was of the old gods."

Ser Barristan looked at him with knowing eyes and nodded grimly.

"I met a green man once. It was at harrenhall, during the tourney. I was standing on the water's edge, looking towards the isle of faces, when a boat appeared out of the mist. It carried a green man and he greeted me. I began to talk to him of the mysteries of the weirwood and he said something that has stuck with me ever since. He said 'the old powers are waking and the Starks have more to do with it than the world knows.' I have seen a northern execution. I saw the Weirwood tree drink the blood of the criminal. Ever since then I have worshiped the faith, but respected the old gods. They have power and none can deny it."

"I don't care if it was by the old gods or not, what Brandon Stark did was an affront to the gods. He deserves death, and if the same affliction is found in his family, then they deserve it too." Ser Gerold replied hotly, his mind still clouded with the vision of Ser Jonothor Darry's mangled corpse.

"Speaking of Brandon Stark" Jamie said, "Have they found him yet?"

"No." Ser Gerold replied as he sunk into a chair. "He was last seen in flea bottom. The gold cloaks are scouring the area now."

A knock came on the door and Gerold opened it to reveal a young page bearing a message. He passed it to the fabled knight wordlessly before fleeing. Gerold opened the scroll and saw words hastily scrawled.

_Ser Gerold,_  
_Riots have begun in flea bottom after a septon tried to burn the godswood there._  
_Requesting immediate assistance,_  
_Ser Alliser Thorne, commander of the city watch._

Gerold sighed as he turned to his brothers. "Riots have begun in flea bottom. The city watch is in need of assistance from the garrison. Ser Jamie you go and guard the king, Ser Barristan and I shall lead the garrison to the streets."

Gerold rushed down the stairs, his white cape billowing behind him. As much as he didn't want to admit it, there was a power in the old gods, the gods of the first men. In truth their power had been steadily growing ever since Aegon finished his conquest. It had been slow by all accounts, but slowly the old gods reach had spread south and now Weirwoods could be found growing as far south as Bitterbridge.

The green men could also be found wandering all around Riverlands, Westerlands, Crownlands and Vale tending to the growing tree's and defending them from rogue septons who often tried to burn them down.

As he reached the bottom of the steps he came across Ser Willam Darry.

"Ser Willam" he greeted, "gather some men of the garrison, there are riots in flea bottom."

The man nodded and rushed away.

He met the men at the gates of the red keep, the gates that only this morning had been the site of the death of the northern lords that had accompanied Lord Stark. Their blood still stained the walls, though the red stone did much to hide it.

Ser Gerold had been most saddened to see the death of Eldric Darkstark, the young Lord of the Darkfort. The man was perhaps the greatest horseman to have ever lived. At the tourney of Harrenhall he had broken 24 lances against Rhaegar before King Aerys interfered, claiming the northerner was cheating.

He had been gracious in defeat, even though he had never truly lost. Then the northerners, already angry over Aerys accusation, were confronted with Rhaegar crowning the Lyanna Stark Queen of Love and Beauty.

If only, Ser Gerold mused, If only Eldric Darkstark had have won. Then no one would be in the position they would be now. The realm would be happy and content and Aerys would not have totally slipped over the edge of insanity.

"We need Rhaegar back" He murmured to himself as the Red Keep's garrison appeared. Together they rode out into the city to help put down the riots and hopefully a temporary end to the madness that had begun ever since Brandon Stark entered the city.


	3. Chapter 3

The first thing that The Burnt Lord was aware of was the pain. It was everywhere at once and somehow seemed to be simultaneously hot and cold. His throat was parched and he groaned in pain.

"My Lord?"

He opened his eyes and saw a concerned face leaning over him.

"Where am I?" He asked the man.

"You're in the underground my lord, we got you here after Aerys tried to kill you."

With those words it all came rushing back. The mad dash to the city, the assault at the city gates and the subsequent burning…and his son. He struggled to get up.

"My Lord you mustn't move, you will only inflame your injuries." The man said as he gently pushed him back down.

"My son…" The Burnt Lord rasped through his parched throat, "Where is my son?"

The man's face filled with sorrow. "He's over here, My Lord. He doesn't have long left."

Rickard turned his head to see his son, sprawled on the mattress across from him. He was a ghastly sight to behold. He had so many crossbow bolts sticking out of him, it was a wonder he wasn't dead yet. He also had a spearhead stuck in his side and so many cuts that he more resembled the flayed man on the Bolton's banner, rather than a human being.

"Brandon…" He groaned.

His son turned his head slightly and Rickard saw in horror that he was missing an eye.

"Father…" He said. "I'm sorry…this…was…all…my…fault. Forgive me."

The Burnt Lord stirred and though his body was screaming in agony he stumbled to his feet.

The man rushed across to stop him. "My Lord you mus-"

"Get out of my way!" The Burnt Lord snarled as he stumbled across to his son. He knelt next to him and grasped his bloody hand.

"Father…promise me…you will make them pay…Make them pay for taking Lyanna. Make them pay for burning you. Make them pay for killing me."

The Burnt Lord grimaced as a tear slid down his cheeks. "You're not going to die today Brandon."

Brandon looked at him and his eyes shone clear. "I'm going to die today. But I saved you. That's enough for me."

With that he closed his eyes and rested once more. The Burnt Lord returned to his bed and lay down. The man came and began to wipe his marred flesh with a cool cloth. It provided little relief to the fire that burned within him though.

"What happened? How did we get out?" The Burnt Lord asked the man. The man looked at him strangely.

"What do you remember?" He asked as he continued to wipe his body down.

"I entered the Red Keep with the other lords. We were attacked and I was dragged into the throne room. Then everything goes sort of hazy."

The man nodded in sympathy. "King Aerys tried to burn you alive. While you were being burned alive, Brandon was forced to watch while a choker was attacked around his neck. He was choking himself to death in an attempt to free you, when apparently he changed forms into a wolf-hybrid. He escaped his bonds and freed you, before going on a rampage through the city. He found his way to the safehouse in fleabottom, where I took him and you into the underground before the goldcloaks could find you."

"He skinchanged?" The Burnt Lord asked. "But skinchanging like that hasn't been seen in over-"

"3000 years." The man agreed.

"How though?" The Burnt Lord asked, confused. The man shrugged.

"I did study the mysteries of the Weirwood for a year when I was younger and I have a theory." He said after a moment's silence. "Naturally" He continued, "The Stark's have always proven to be strong with magic, indeed it was Stark blood that began the reawakening. I think that it might have been lying dormant within him for all these years and the stress of having to watch you be burned alive woke it within him."

The Burnt Lord shuddered at the amount of pain that Brandon must have been in to awaken the beast within. He looked at his son, who was lying peacefully, his face serene. "How is he now?" he asked the man.

The man looked at him and walked over. He touched his neck where his pulse should have been and sighed. "I'm sorry My Lord, he's passed."

The fire within The Burnt Lord burnt so hot that it was painful. But it was a good pain, The Burnt Lord surmised, a pain to wash away the frivolities, to allow him to focus. He wanted vengeance. He had a blood debt that was due. He turned to the man.

"What's your name?" He asked.

"Gared, My Lord"

"Scribe a message for Moat Cailin for me."

The man nodded and rushed to gather a parchment, quill and an inkwell. He gathered them and placed them on the table. "What should I write?" Gared asked.

The Burnt Lord opened his mouth and Gared began to scribe.

_Send this on using every raven you have,_

_To all houses great and small,_  
_To Kings and Commoners alike,_

_I have a blood debt I must repay,_  
_There shall be no mercy for those that stand in my way,_  
_The North Remembers,_

_Rickard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North and The Burnt Lord._

Gared finished scratching the letter and handed it to The Burnt Lord to proof read. He scanned it and nodded.

"Send it to Moat Cailin at once." The Burnt Lord said and Gared rushed away, leaving The Burnt Lord alone with his eldest son's corpse. He struggled to his feet once more and inspected his son's body.

He counted the broken spearhead's, every single one. All 12 of them.

He counted the crossbows bolts, every single one. All 23 of them.

He counted the cuts, every single one. All 34 of them.

He counted his missing son, the first skin changer to have been seen in 3000 years.

He would repay his debts to house Targaryen regardless of the cost.

He would throw them from the throne their ancestors had forged.

He WOULD avenge his son.

"I will avenge you my firstborn son, I swear it by earth and water, I swear it by bronze and iron, I swear it by blood and bile, and I swear it by ice and fire. I will avenge you and cast the Targaryen's from their throne."

The Burnt Lord got to his feet and observed a bowl of water sitting on the bench in the corner of the room. He hobbled over and observed his reflection. His face was a horrible mess of melted, marred, skin. His beard, eyebrows, eyelashes and hair had all been burned away by the green flames. He was a true horror to look upon, but he was content. The Burnt Lord looked and didn't see his marred flesh, he looked and saw a reminder of his skin changing son, a reminder of what he'd been and what he'd vowed to do.

The Burnt Lord would have his vengeance.

But first he had to ensure his other children were safe. The Burnt Lord closed his eyes and stretched his mind, searching for his white raven.


	4. Chapter 4

Jamie Lannister shifted uncomfortably as he heard the screams that emanated from behind the door. He hated this, having to guard the king while he engaged in his hideous acts. He remembered when he'd first had to stand guard while he raped his wife. 'We're sworn to protect her' he had hissed at Ser Jonothor Darry. Ser Jonothor simply nodded and said 'we are, but not from him'. That was when Jamie Lannister first realised joining the kingsguard might not have been Cersei's brightest idea.

The sound of footsteps echoed up the corridor and Jamie prepared to protect the king. Thoughts of Brandon Stark filled his mind and he wondered if he had finally come to exact his revenge. His heart was pounding in his chest and almost burst from sheer relief when he realised it was only Ser Gerold and Ser Barristan.

They looked slightly worse for wear with Ser Gerold's armour splattered with blood and both of their cloaks were darkened by soot. "Ser Jamie" Ser Gerold greeted, "Where is the king?"

Jamie glanced behind him briefly and nodded towards the door. As if in answer one of Rhaella's screams echoed through the corridor again. Ser Gerold did not even flinch, he just came and stood guard next Jamie.

A while later Aerys emerged from his wife's chamber's, almost bouncing with glee.

"Ah, Ser Gerold," He cackled "You have come back. We have much to discuss."

He began to walk to his own chambers, and Ser Gerold and Ser Jamie fell into step behind him.

"Have you found that monster yet?" He asked.

"No, my king. It seems to have disappeared somewhere in Fleabottom. We are searching for it with all diligence."

"Good. I want all the Stark's heads. They're all traitors."

"I will send a raven at once."

"Good."

The king arrived at his chambers and settled into the plush chair behind his desk.

"Rhaegar needs to return to the capital and fix this mess he has made."

Ser Gerold nodded in agreeance. "I will depart tonight and find him."

"Good. Leave me alone for now. I must devise a way to destroy these Starks."

Both men bowed and left Aerys alone to his thoughts. Outside, Ser Barristan was waiting.

"What now?" he asked fearfully.

"War," Ser Gerold replied simply. "War with the north. He wants all the Stark's heads."

"You realise what war with the north means don't you?" Ser Barristan asked.

"The wolf's maw will be shut without a doubt."

The legendary wolf's maw, mused Ser Jamie, the underground river that Torrhen Stark's bastard brother, Brandon Snow, had discovered. They had developed it and used it to transport goods from one side of the kingdom to the other in much shorter times. Jamie knew a lot about it, his father had often talked about it. He had even gone as far as offering Rickard Stark's second son, Eddard, the lordship of Castamere in exchange for free use of the river. He had been most wroth when he was informed that Eddard Stark did not want the lordship and had instead accepted a holdfast in the north. 'What could the north offer him that he could not have tenfold of in the westerlands!' he had raged.

"It will be a cost we will just have to bear until the war is over."

"What of the White Eye?" Ser Barristan continued.

Another legendary northern institution, although this was legendary for different reasons. It was a group of wargs who did not want to abide by the rules the Stark's had set for them. They formed a splinter group and used their skills to become the world's greatest assassins and thieves. They were just as effective as the faceless men, and cost just as much as well.

"They hate the Stark's." Ser Gerold snorted. "They're more likely to side with us!"

Jamie laughed then. Ser Gerold glared at him. "Something funny boy?" He said with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"Do you know who the last Targaryen king was who attacked the North?" He said, "It was Baelor the Blessed. He allowed the faith militant to march against the north. None of them ever returned. Baelor died days after they attacked Moat Cailin by a spider bite. The only time those two work together is when the north is threatened."

"Your wrong boy." Ser Gerold snapped back. "Even so, we must keep an extra eye on the king. We need to fill the empty spots and bring back Arthur and Oswell. I'll ask Richard Lonmouth and Willem Darry to stand in while I'm away. Keep a watch out for everything. We're dealing with more than just assassins in the dark here. War with the North means monsters in the night as Brandon Stark proved."

At the thought of Brandon Stark, Jamie shivered. At night those angry grey eyes still haunted his nightmares. He just wanted to go home now, home to Casterly Rock, back to Cersei and Tyrion and away from this wretched game that the other nobles seemed to love.

"And what of the other great houses?" Ser Jamie asked.

"What of them?" Ser Gerold replied. "They will side with their rightful king or be punished."

"By all accounts," Ser Barristan interrupted, "Jon Arryn loves Eddard Stark like his own son. Robert Baratheon loves him like his own brother, and hates Rhaegar with equal passion after Rhaegar crowned his betrothed Queen of Love and Beauty. Hoster Tully's daughter was betrothed to Brandon Stark. Quellon Greyjoy and Rickard Stark were very close friends. All of them will have some level of sympathy to the Stark's cause. What if they join the Stark's?"

"We still have the Reach and Dorne," Ser Gerold snarled "The Reach alone can field 100,000 men. I for one fail to believe that even if those lords do declare for the Stark's, that they will have unanimous support." His face softened for a bit. "I will go and get Rhaegar. He will know what to do."

"I know Robert Baratheon." Ser Barristan replied, "He loves Eddard Stark as much as you hate Brandon Stark. He will fight for the Stark's even if he must fight alone."

"He WILL do his duty to the crown!" Ser Gerold replied hotly.

Ser Barristan smiled sadly, almost wistfully. "What is duty to a brother's love?" He sighed then. "What is honour to a woman's arms?" He added as an afterthought. Then he stiffened as he realised what he had just said.

Jamie glanced at Ser Gerold and saw the man was aghast at what Ser Barristan had just said.

"I will excuse that breach of protocol Ser Barristan" He said frostily. "As long as I never hear anything like that again!"

Ser Barristan, suitably chastised, muttered a humble apology and rushed away. Ser Gerold turned to Jamie.

"I am leaving to go and get Rhaegar now. Protect the king with your life. Honour your oaths Ser Jamie."

"I will"

"Swear it to me now on your dead mother."

"I swear on my dead mother to honour my oaths and guard my king with my life."

"Good" Ser Gerold said, seemingly appeased, before turning and striding away, his white cape billowing out behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

The boat glided along the smooth blue waters of the Bay of Crabs. Eddard Stark stood at the prow of the ship, feeling the fresh sea air on his face. Next to him Ashara Dayne stirred from where she had nestled herself in the crook of his elbow. He had met her at Gulltown, he travelling from the Eeryie and her from Dragonstone where she was lady in waiting to Princess Elia Martell. They were on their way to attend Brandon's wedding to Catelyn Tully where hopefully he would get his father's permission to marry her. He smiled at her as she turned her face up to look at him.

"Ned," she said concernedly, "What if your father doesn't want you to marry me?"

He laughed then. The idea that his southern loving father would not want him to marry Ashara Dayne, the sister of Ser Arthur Dayne, was laughable.

She scowled at his reaction and hit him on the arm. "It's not funny you know."

"Father is all about southern alliances. He will be overjoyed to have a good-daughter related to Ser Arthur Dayne. You're worrying over nothing Ash. We will go to Brandon's wedding, I will present you to my father, and then we will get married. It's simple."

"Have you decided what Lordship you're going to take up yet?"

"I have."

"And?"

"You'll have to wait and see."

Ashara poked her tongue out at him, before nestling back into his arms.

"You're quite lucky you know. It's not every second son that has a variety of lordships to choose from."

Eddard snorted in reply. "It's only because they want free access to the Wolf's Maw and they think I can give it to them."

"How many lordships were you offered?"

"Five. Tywin Lannister offered me Castamere. Hoster Tully offered me Oldstones. Mace Tyrell offered me some seat along the Mander. Robert, perhaps the only one to offer without expecting some form of access to the river, offered me the lordship of the Rainwood and father offered me Mount Starpoint."

"Castamere is said to be the second richest mines in the west."

"Aye and filled with bodies. I have no intention of seeing the Rains of Castamere become the Starks of Castamere once I've displeased him."

"Ah, so Castamere is not the one."

Eddard frowned as he realised what she was doing. "I'm not talking to you about my lordship anymore."

Ashara laughed and it made Eddard's heart soar. He loved that sound, it could make even the bleakest day better. He looked out towards the coast as it passed by.

"What I'm worried about is if your brother doesn't approve. Your brother is much more formidable than my father. I have no intention of ending up on the receiving end of Dawn."

"He won't interfere. He was with us when we knelt before the Weirwood and were betrothed by your gods."

She held up her wrist then, and the purple sleeve of her dress fell back to reveal a simple Weirwood bracelet, entwined around her wrist. He remembered that night like it was yesterday. It was one of the happiest moments of his life.

She appeared at the edge of the godswood like a vision sent from his gods. She was dressed in a flowing gown of purple and grey, and when she stepped out of the shadows of the towering oaks and into the moonlight she more resembled a goddess, than the human she was. He smiled at her shyly, feeling once more like the shy, young man who had to rely on the courage and smooth ways of his older brother to ask her to dance.

Next to her walked her brother in his full kingsguard armour, the legendary greatsword, Dawn, sheathed at his side. Ned's mouth went dry as he looked at him. What if he didn't approve? What if he thought Ashara deserved better than a second son? What if…

"Hello Ned." She said.

Eddard Stark swallowed and stared stupidly.

"I know you told me he was quiet sister, but I didn't realise he was this quiet." Arthur Dayne said after a moment of silence.

"You look beautiful." He finally managed to sputter out. She smiled at him, her purple eyes twinkling with laughter.

Behind him Howland Reed leaned in. "You know how stupid you look right now, right?" He whispered in his ear. Ned turned around and glared at him. "Shut up." He hissed.

He turned back to Ashara who was making her way to his side. She reached and extended her hand he grasped it in his hand and together they made their way before the heart tree of Harrenhall.

"So how does this work?" She asked him as she squeezed his hand.

"We kneel before the heart tree and wait. It might not work, but if we are still then they are said to work faster but if it doesn't work we don't have to worry because most people can get married without one of these it's just if my father wants-"

He was abruptly cut off by Ashara placing one of her fingers on his lips. He caught himself, realising he had begun rambling in his nervousness.

She pulled on his hand and together they knelt down before the terrible carven face. Behind them Howland Reed and Arthur Dayne took up their positions as witnesses before the Old Gods.

They had been kneeling for a barely a minute when he felt dry wood sneaking its way in between their intertwined palms. Next to him, he felt Ashara stiffen in surprise and shock. The wood crept up and around and bound their wrists together. Ned's heart soared as he realised the gravity of what was happening. The gods were ordaining and blessing a marriage between him and Ashara Dayne! He felt the wood stop moving and a wind whistled through the trees. Opening his eyes, he turned to Ashara, who still had her eyes clenched tightly closed, unsure of what had just transpired.

"Ash," He whispered, "You can open your eyes now."

She opened her eyes and turned to him smiling. "It worked?" She asked.

"It workerd." He agreed. He helped her to her feet and turned to see a shocked Howland Reed and confused Arthur Dayne.

"I was under the impression that these things went for a lot longer" Arthur said with a frown on his face.

Ashara frowned too and turned to Ned. "He's right. You told me that it could take all night and still not work."

Howland Reed stuttered forward.

"Ned…" He breathed, "What just happened is unheard of! The shortest I've ever heard of anyone kneeling was five hours! You were there for barely a minute before the gods started to move!"

He rushed forward to inspect the Weirwood knot that bound their wrists together. He looked at it closely before pulling his obsidian knife from its sheath on his hip.

"Do you want me to cut it?" he asked.

"No." Ashara replied, "Leave it. I want to remember this, I want to savour every moment."

She smiled at him again and clenched his hand in hers. She stepped forward and the next thing he knew her lips were gently brushing his…

His lips still tingled from the phantom memory of that kiss. Lifting his own arm up, his sleeve fell back to reveal his own Weirwood bracelet entwined around his wrist.

"It was funny when I showed my brothers and sisters this." Ned said as he inspected the Weirwood. "It inspired Brandon and Lyanna to attempt to get someone to kneel before the gods with them so they wouldn't have to honour their betrothals."

Ashara frowned at him. "I thought you told me this was a requirement for most northern betrothals."

"It is. Father's southern proclivities outweighed his duty to his gods in this case however much to the disgruntlement of more than one of his bannermen. Lord Ryswell was particularly upset as it was well known that Brandon and his daughter Barbarey loved each other."

"That's a shame. Didn't they kneel before the gods?"

"My father banned Brandon from doing so. He said the North needed the southern alliances that only marriage could bring."

"I can't imagine Brandon just accepting your father's commands. He seemed to…wild for that."

"To be honest, he didn't at first. He declared he was going to ride to the Rillsand kneel before a godswood and by his own words 'allow the old gods to decide'. Father chased after him and when he returned all talk of marrying Barbarey was dead, instead he was going to marry Catelyn Tully."

"What did your father tell him?"

"I don't know. Neither of them ever saw fit to tell me."

Ned looked out over the waves, wrapped in thoughts of his elder brother, when he first noticed the white raven winging its way towards him. He watched it curiously as it alighted on the railing next to him. With a shock, he realised it was his father's raven.

"Ned." It cawed. "Ned."

Ned pushed Ashara out of his arms and stepped towards the bird. It had a scroll tied around one of its legs.

"Ned?" Ashara asked, "Did that bird just say your name?"

Ignoring her, he reached out a hand to grab the scroll. He unfurled it and began to read.

Ned,

Your brother is dead, murdered by the Mad King.

He rode to King's Landing after finding out that Rhaegar kidnapped Lyanna.

I have been horribly scarred. I'm hidden in King's Landing at the moment, we're planning to smuggle me out in a week.

Aerys has called for all our heads. I've already sent a message to Moat Cailin and the northern banners have been called.

You are the heir to Winterfell now, and you need to return home. I will go straight to Winterfell and marshal the entire army, you go to Moat Cailin and lead the vanguard into the riverlands.

You need to convince Jon Arryn and Robert Baratheon to fight for us, not the Targaryens.

Hopefully I'll see you soon,

Father.

His heart, pounding in his chest he glanced at Ashara who was looking at him concernedly. He turned back to the white raven.

"Father?" He asked.

"Yes." The bird cawed.

"I'm on a ship to Saltpans at the moment. We're meant to arrive by this afternoon. I can be at the Eyrie within five days if I ride hard. From there, I'll catch a ship to the Wolf's Maw and take the vanguard south."

"Good." The bird said. With that it stretched its wings once more and flew back across the water.

Ned slumped to the deck of the ship, the scroll clutched tightly in his hands. Breathing heavily he thought on what his father had just told him. Brandon was dead? Brandon couldn't be dead! He started breathing heavily, beginning to panic, when Ashara's voice cut through the haze within his own head.

"Ned, what's wrong?" She asked as she knelt down next to him. He glanced at her fearfully.

"Ashara when we get to Saltpans you need to go home."

"Home?" She asked, "What about Brandon's wedding? What about presenting me to your father?"

"It's been called off." He managed to choke out.

"Called off? Ned what happened? What does that scroll say?"

He didn't answer, just pressed his lips tightly together. Gently, she reached down and eased the scroll from his shaking hands. There was a moment of silence while she read it, before she slumped down next to him too.

"Oh Ned," She breathed, "I'm so sorry."

She pulled him into her arms and began to stroke his hair. Her lips brushed his forehead, but strangely it did not make him feel good. All Ned could think about was Catelyn Tully, promised to be the next lady of Winterfell.

"Ashara, you need to go back to Starfall."

"I'm not going anywhere. I'm going with you." She held up her arm then to show him her Weirwood bracelet then, and it made him want to cry. The stupid, stubborn, beautiful girl, why did she have to make this so hard?

"Ashara, I promise I will come to Starfall as soon as the war is over and marry you. If we lose however and you're with me you're going to suffer as well."

Like a stubborn mule she shook her head again. "No. I'm coming with you."

Ned sighed and went to argue further before she interrupted him.

"Quiet, Eddard Stark. You took me before a Weirwood and your gods blessed us. I'm not one to deny the gods, and neither are you. I will stay with you to the bitter end, even if it leads to death."

"Ash…"

"No, don't argue. I'm coming with you, at the very least until I'm assured you're going to be safe."

Eddard Stark went to argue further when she stopped him with another kiss. It tingled the same way that first one had, all those nights ago, before the smiles died.


	6. Chapter 6

The booming voice of Robert Baratheon echoed throughout the lonely halls of the Eyrie, as Jon Arryn sat in his solar contemplating the contents of the letter before him. The door to his solar swung open to reveal a veritable giant. Strong, six and a half feet tall and muscled like a maiden's fantasy, Robert Baratheon strode in and sat down across the desk from Jon.

"So Jon," He said as he reached for the goblet of wine on his foster father's desk, "what did you call me here for?"

Jon reached out and snatched the wine goblet from Robert's hands before he could lift it to his lips. Wordlessly, he passed him a letter, the letter that doomed them all to war. Robert frowned and took the letter from him. He watched Robert's face as he read the letter, switching from shock, to disbelief, to anger, to the fury that the Baratheon's were so famous for. His jaw clenched and his face reddened.

_To Lord Jon Arryn, Lord Paramount of the Vale and Warden of the East,_

_Rickard and Brandon Stark are hereby denounced as enemies of the realm and were executed for treason._

_Prove your loyalty to your rightful king and bring me the head of your ward Eddard Stark._

_Aerys Targaryen, King of the Andals, Rhoynar and First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm._

"He calls for Eddard Stark's head!? What's wrong with the man! First his son dishonours my betrothed, then he kills my best friend's brother and father and now he demands his head as well! Enough is enough I say, let's call our banners and throw these dragons from their throne!"

"That's not all." Jon handed Robert another letter, the letter that Rickard Stark had sent himself.

_To Lord Jon Arryn,_

_No doubt by now you will have heard of my demise. I assure such tales are false._

_Brandon rode to King's Landing after hearing that Rhaegar had kidnapped my daughter Lyanna._

_Aerys did attempt to kill me and Brandon, but we were able to escape. Brandon died later of wounds sustained during our escape._

_It is time, once and for all to end the Targaryen's. It is time to enact the plans we have been making for the last few years._

_Rickard Stark._

Robert's countenance became even angrier. "Rhaegar…kidnapped…Lyanna!" He managed to choke out.

A vein began pulsing on the side of his head. His face purpled and he slammed his hands down on the desk.

"Where's Ned now? Let me lead some men to go and get him! I'll get Ned, we'll call our banners and crush the skulls of those that stand in our way!"

"Ned was meant to be on his way to his brother's wedding. I have no clue where he is now. Last I heard he was meeting someone in Gulltown, before heading to his brother's wedding."

"We need to get him back."

"He'll find his way back."

Robert stood up and walked to his solar's window. He stood there, hands clenched on the sill, staring out the window.

"I will not let anyone harm Ned." He said lowly. "The man is more a brother to me than Stannis or Renly will ever be."

"I would rather revolt against Aerys than hand him Eddard Stark's head-"

"Jon!" Robert suddenly exclaimed as he pointed out the window, "Look!"

A white raven flew in through the open window, alighting on Jon's desk.

"That's the bird that used to follow Ned around when he was younger!"

"Aye." Jon said as he looked at it curiously.

"Jon." It cawed. Robert jumped in shock. The bird hopped forward and Jon saw a scroll attached to the bird's leg. With trembling hands he reached forward and grasped the scroll. He pulled it back and opened and when he saw who it was from he almost collapsed in relief.

_Jon,_

_I am on my way to the Bloody Gate via Saltpans. I will meet you there. Worry not, for the moment I am safe and aware of the situation regarding the king and my brother._

_I should be there within four days,_

_Ned._

He handed the letter to Robert and put his head in his hands. Ned was safe. That was good. Now came the waiting game.

Five days later and Eddard Stark ascended to the gilded halls of the Eyrie; with an unexpected, and in Robert's eyes unwelcome, visitor on his arm. Lady Ashara Dayne had barely left Ned's side from the second they had arrived. They were all gathered in his solar now, even Lady Dayne much to Robert's consternation.

"She could be a spy for the Targaryen's!" Robert had ranted. Lady Dayne, much to her credit, had fixed Robert with a steely, cool gaze and promptly informed him that if she "was working for the Targaryen's she would have slit Ned's throat on the way here and be done with the whole sorry business." Jon couldn't help but admire her in a way. Not many would be brave enough to stand up to a blustering Robert. Which was precisely why the letter he had received from Hoster Tully was only that much more painful to deliver.

They were all sitting around his table now, Ned in front of him, Robert on Ned's left and Lady Dayne on his right. He fingered the letter from Hoster Tully in front of him. Robert was scowling heavily at the girl who was just staring at him, totally ignoring Robert.

"Ned," He began. "In war, we have to make hard decisions sometimes… decisions that might not make us happy, but will ensure the safety of those we love…you know what I'm doing a horrible job at this. Just read the bloody letter yourself."

He passed the letter to Ned who opened it and started reading it. Lady Dayne and Robert read over his shoulder and the contrast of their reactions would have been comical if the nature of the letter were not so shattering. Lady Dayne's face was aghast, while Robert looked supremely smug and overjoyed.

"I cannot." He said after he finished reading the letter.

Robert snorted then. "Believe me Ned when I say I'm overjoyed you've finally found an interest in wenches, but aside from between the sheets they don't have much use. Marry the Tully girl, get her father's troops, and you can use this…wench…as a mistress."

Even Jon winced at the glare that Ned sent Robert's way.

"I have no intention of becoming your mistress Ned," Lady Dayne said as she grabbed his hand. "Surely Lord Tully will understand if you tell him that he would be condemning his daughter to a loveless marriage. I love you Ned and I promised you I would stick by you to the end. Please don't do this."

Ned glanced at Ashara before looking back to Jon. "What do you think?" He asked.

Jon winced. He knew what Ned wanted to hear, but it wasn't what he needed to hear.

"Ned." He sighed. "You have a duty to your house. You have a duty to ensure that we will win this war. Hoster Tully has the troops we need. It is the hardest thing to give up what we love for our duty, but love is a luxury only afforded to the smallfolk. Marry the girl I say, marry her and be done with it. I am sorry it's not the life you want, but by all account's Catelyn Tully is a beautiful girl. Your life with her would be far from unhappy."

Ned sighed and put his head in his hands. "How many troops do the river lords bring us?"

"It's unsure, because some could revolt, but it could be about 10,000 troops."

Ned sat up and looked at Ashara Dayne. "Ashara" he began "Jon is right."

She scoffed and stood up. "I can't believe I let myself get tricked by you! I thought you were a man of honour!" She screeched. She reached to her wrist and went to tear off what looked like a Weirwood bracelet when Ned reached forward and grasped her hand tightly. "Let go of me!" She yelled as she hit him with her free hand.

"I do have a duty," He continued "but it's not to the Tully's."

Immediately she stopped struggling and looked at him. "What?" she asked in confusion.

"I do have a duty. But it's not to the Tully's. It's firstly to my gods, the gods of the Weirwoods, the old gods." His tone shifted, grew softer. "The gods that betrothed us." He smiled at her. "Then it's too my family. Then too my house. Then too my king."

"You fool!" Robert boomed as he stood up and walked out of the room.

"Ned," Jon said, "I'm happy for you, truly, but you may have just doomed our war effort."

Ned shook his head. "How many men do we need to defeat the Targaryen's?"

"Well the Reach will attack the Stormlands, so if Storm's End holds against the Tyrell's then at least…40,000. If they don't, then we will need at least 100,000."

"How many men can you field?"

"Before or after the loyalist's revolt?"

"After."

"20,000 if I stretch it."

"Good. Then we'll have enough."

"Enough! We will have no nowhere near enough!"

"How many men do you think the north can field Jon?"

"You said it was 20,000"

"I lied."

"Well how many is it?"

"The North's full strength is 140,000 men."

"Ned you've never been one for japes, now's not a good time to start."

"I'm not japing. I'm being serious. We've hidden our strength because we didn't want anyone else knowing. The Starks have been planning the Targaryen's demise for almost 300 years now."

Jon saw he was being serious and suddenly Ned Stark's decision to not marry the Tully girl didn't seem so bad any more.


	7. Chapter 7

Robert left his best friend in a fury. How stupid was the man? He felt the primal urge to smash something, preferably Rhaegar's chest, but that Dornish wench's face would do just fine too. How would Ned like her then?

Growling deep in his throat he entered the armoury and picked up his favourite war hammer. He walked out into the practice yard and began laying into the practice dummy's with a fury he hadn't felt in ages.

Lyanna, his Lyanna, beautiful, sweet, gentle, lovely Lyanna; the Lyanna that was his, had been kidnapped by that…incest riddled Dragonspawn!

When he was finished all that was left of the dummies was piles of straw and broken wood. He nodded satisfied, when he saw Ned watching him from the other side of the courtyard. Thankfully the Dornish wench wasn't with him so he went over to him.

"Robert" Ned greeted.

"Ned!" Robert exclaimed as he pulled him into a big hug. "It's good to know you're back safe!"

"You're not angry at me?"

"Bah, I could never be angry at you…for too long! I love your grim, boring, countenance too much for that!"

He felt Ned relax in his arms and pulled back. "Although I still think your being stupid. Is that girl really that good in bed that you've decided you want her every night?"

Ned blushed a furious shade of red. "I've never…you know?"

"You've never what?"

"Dishonoured her…" Ned whispered. Robert burst out laughing.

"Well what do you see in the girl then?"

"I like her." Ned replied simply.

"Well let me tell you something I've learnt from all my experience. If you stay with the same woman too long she can become boring very quickly."

"Robert," Ned hissed at him, "You're betrothed to my sister!"

Robert darkened as he thought of his Lyanna being held captive by that Dragonspawn. "And she will be my queen!" He hotly replied. "I swear to you Ned, I will kill Rhaegar for what he has done to your brother and sister. I will smash his head in with my own hammer! I don't care how many men he brings, I will just keep killing and killing till his dead and all his supporters are dead! Can you imagine it? It'll be you, me, a few pretty wenches, some good fights and lots of food and drink!"

Ned laughed quietly. "Aye, that sounds like your idea of a good time."

"Did Jon tell you the Grafton's declared for the Targaryen's?"

"The Grafton's of Gulltown?"

"Aye. We're going to be heading down there in a few days to take back Gulltown. Are you going to come?"

"No, I need to get home. If Gulltown's out, I guess I'll have to go to the fingers for a ship."

"Oh well. I'll see you when we're ready to end it aye?"

"Aye. Take care Robert."

"You too Ned. I couldn't bear to lose you. I would rather lose Stannis or Renly!"

Robert grasped Ned in a hug once more and pulled him close. The next time he saw Ned it would be in the battlefield hopefully, with Rhaegar's blood staining his hammer.


	8. Chapter 8

Tywin Lannister smiled as he read The Burnt Wolf's letter.

_To all houses great and small,_

_To Kings and Commoners alike,_

_I have a blood debt I must repay,_

_There shall be no mercy for those that stand in my way,_

_The North Remembers,_

_Rickard Stark, The Burnt Lord._

It seemed Aery's humiliation was nigh. He had waited and endured all Aerys had thrown at him for years now. Endured the humiliation to his own beautiful Joanna, endured the slight against Cersei and endured the humiliation of having his eldest son and heir stolen from him. But now it looked like he would be finally able to repay his debts to house Targaryen. It seemed Aerys had angered the wrong man in Rickard Stark. A brave man to be sure, but stupid too, stupid and easily manoeuvred in the game of thrones. He would let them fight it out and side with the winner.

If Rickard won and put a new king on the throne he would offer Cersei as a betrothal. If Aerys won, he would throw him from the throne himself and put Rhaegar on it, under the condition he take Cersei as wife. Either way, House Lannister's legacy upon the Iron Throne would be assured.

The door opened and Kevan Lannister, his younger brother shuffled in. He was a dutiful man Kevan, everything a younger brother should be; much more able than that japing Gerion. "Tywin, A letter from Aerys has arrived."

Tywin smiled. He had been expecting for it some time now. "And what does our gracious king want of us now?"

Kevan handed him the letter as he sat in the chair across from him.

_To Tywin Lannister,_

_I demand you call your banners at once and march against Rickard Stark's barbarian heathens,_

_I hope you do not delay for I have no need to remind you that your son is currently in my custody and as such any delay on your part will not go well for him._

_From Aerys Targaryen, King of the Andals, Rhoynar and First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm._

Tywin's jaw clenched as he read the letter. He dared to make demands of him? After all he had done? And to threaten his son! Tywin hoped that Rickard's forces would win. He wanted to see Aery's legacy crumble to ashes at his hands. With the letter still in his hands he walked over to the fire burning in the hearth and threw it in.

"Call the banners." He told Kevan. "If it's Lannister troops Aery's wants, it's Lannister troops he'll get."

Kevan rushed out the room to do his bidding. Oh yes, Tywin would enjoy watching the fall of House Targaryen, he would enjoy it very much.


	9. Chapter 9

Arthur ran his whetstone down the greatsword Dawn, even though the blade did not require sharpening. It was a habit borne of the days before he wielded such a legendary sword, and it helped him to think. He was so lost in his thoughts he did not hear the horse's arrival until it skidded to a stop in front of him.

He looked up into the grim, lined face of Ser Gerold Hightower, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

"Lord Commander," He greeted as he got to his feet.

"Arthur." The Lord Commander replied. "Where is Rhaegar?"

Arthur turned and gestured to the tower behind him. It was called the Tower of Joy though for the life of him Arthur could not figure out why. It was a lonely, desolate place, surrounded by deserts and scrub, and falling into a state of ruin. "In there."

"Is she with him?"

She, the northerner. The one who had made Rhaegar forget his vows to Elia Martell, one of the most beautiful and kind people Arthur ever knew. In his youth he had loved her and she him. He had wanted to marry her until her mother informed him that the second son of a banner men was not of high enough standing for her Elia.

"Aye."

The White Bull nodded his head. "Come, we must speak with him. Where is Ser Oswell?"

"In there with him now."

Together the two ascended the tower's steps. They stepped through the doorway and into the shade of the tower, where they found Ser Oswell lying on the floor, sleeping. The Lord Commander strode forward and poked him in the stomach with his foot.

The man jumped awake and went to grab his sword, only stopping when he realised who it was. "You should be more careful you know. If I didn't realise who you were I would have killed you! Lucky I was only pretending to sleep, aye?"

"Of course." Ser Gerold replied drily. "I see the Dornish sun hasn't made you lose your wit Oswell."

"Pfft, takes more than some heat and sand to fell the bravest knight of the kingsguard."

Arthur laughed at the japing fool that was his friend. It was good to laugh like this. He didn't think he had laughed at anything other than Oswell ever since Harrenhall. Harrenhall…where all the smiles died. Curse you Rhaegar, curse you for putting me in this position.

As if he had heard his name, the man himself entered the room, ascending down the rickety staircase that led to the room where she lived.

"Ser Gerold? What are you doing here?"

"Maybe we should talk outside my prince."

"Of course."

Ser Arthur helped Ser Oswell to his feet and followed the Lord Commander and Rhaegar out the door. When they were a safe distance away from the tower Ser Gerod stopped.

"Why have you come here Ser Gerold?" Rhaegar asked.

The words that spilled out of Ser Gerold's mouth chilled Arthur to the bone.

"Brandon Stark showed up at the Red Keep three weeks ago. It seemed he had somehow received word that you had kidnapped his sister. He rode in the gates with other sons of the north and demanded that you 'come out and die'. Aerys had him thrown in prison and called his father to answer for his crimes. When his father came he had him arrested for treason and then attempted to burn him alive. Brandon Stark turned into a monster and freed them both, they got away. Llewyn Martell and Jonothor Darry were killed in their escape. Aerys then declared he wanted all the Stark's heads and wrote to Jon Arryn to give him his ward's, Eddard Starks."

No, Arthur thought. Not him. Please not him. His mind was filled with thoughts of Ashara and a screaming Weirwood that moved in the wind.

"Jon Arryn refused and instead called his banners. The north has called theirs as well, and are marshalling at Moat Cailin. Your father needs you back to deal with the mess he made."

"You said Brandon turned into a monster. What did you mean?" Rhaegar asked.

"He was half man, half wolf. A terror to look upon and a terror to fight. He killed two kingsguard, 37 guards of the garrison and 102 goldcloaks."

Rhaegar smiled. "I was right. Hers shall be the song of Ice and Fire. The magic of the north with the magic of Valyria, two powerful bloodlines united at last."

Inside Arthur seethed in anger. His kingdom was at war and all Rhaegar could think about was his prophecy!

"Your father has ordered you too return and put down the Starks." Ser Gerold said.

Rhaegar turned and looked up at the window of the tower.

Arthur wanted to scream then. The Kingdom was at war! How many sons must be resigned to death all for this man's obsession with prophecy? With a start Arthur realised it was madness, it might not have been as pronounced as his father's but it was there nonetheless.

Rhaegar turned to him then. "Arthur," He said, "My oldest and dearest friend. You once said you would aid me in deposing my father. When this war is done, will you stand by me?"

"I will." Arthur said with a certainty that he wasn't feeling on the inside.

"Ser Oswell, will you stand by me?"

"I will."

"And you Ser Gerold? Will you stand by me against my father?"

"…I will…My King."

"Good. Then we have much to do."

Rhaegar turned to where their horses were saddled and began to prepare his horse.

"Here is what we will do. I will ride to King's Landing to lead the armies' against the Stark's. Hopefully I can end it peacefully. You three will stay here to guard the girl."

"Your grace, we are sworn to you! You need protection!"

"And I shall be fine. The girl is of utmost importance. She is preganant."

Arthur stilled as he realised what Rhaegar had done.

"Rhaegar" He hissed, "You are married!"

Rhaegar looked at him and without even batting an eyelid nodded. "Yes. But I am a Targaryen, the rules are different for us."

Disgust welled up in Arthur. Where was the boy he had grown up with? Where was the man who wanted to put an end to the madness?

"But your grace," Ser Gerold said, "at least let me accompany you."

"No." Rhagar said. Ser Gerold went to argue further but Rhagar cut him off with an angry snap.

"You just swore fealty to me as your king. Now obey me as your king!"

Ser Gerold nodded and stepped back, although the look on his face suggested it left a very bitter taste in his mouth.

"I will put an end to this madness." Rhaegar said as he swung astride his saddle. "Look after the girl."

With that he turned the horse and spurred it on it's way. He turned to see the girl in the doorway.

"Ser Arthur!" She called, "Where is Rhaegar going?"

He wanted to hurt her then, to make her cry for what she had done. TO make her regret ever allowing Rhaegar's honeyed words to convice her to leave.

"He goes to war." He replied.

"War? War with who?"

"The Starks."

In the doorway the girl registered what he had said and slumped to the floor. A wail burst forth from her lips filling the air with a song of sadness that not even Rhaegar could achieve. As he watched her thoughts of Elia filled his mind and he wondered if this was how she felt when Rhaegar ran off with a child.


	10. Chapter 10

The Mountains of the Moon were easily some of the most breathtakingly beautiful mountains Ashara had ever seen. This did not however, take away the pain of the biting winds that cut through to Ashara's bones and led her to shivering in her furs most nights, wishing for the warmth of the man that often slept only feet away.

With her and Ned were two of Lord Arryn's household guard, who were to ensure that the both of them reached the fingers safely and protect them from the clansmen who often frequented these mountains.

The three of them had been traveling for three weeks now, having left the Eyrie at the same time as Lord Arryn, who was marching on Gulltown. Robert Baratheon had gone with him too, though not before giving Ned another lecture on his opinion of 'the dornish wench' as he referred to her. Her thoughts soured as she thought of Robert Baratheon. He was a great fool and she worried for the state of the Stormlands under his rule.

She shivered again as the winds rose around them and held her hands out to the small campfire that Ned had made when they set up for the night. Why did it have to be so cold? The sun kissed lands of Dorne seemed a distant memory right now. She fondly remembered the days when she and Arthur used to splash and play in the Torentine. Days when the sun was so hot, you burnt your feet just running across the sand and into the cool water. She wondered where Arthur was now. Was he with his silver prince? Did he know where the girl was?

Warmth suddenly spread through her body as a pair of arms encircled her and pulled her into Ned's warm embrace. She hummed in comfort as his warmth spread through her chilled limbs. He wrapped his heavy fur cloak around them both as he pulled her closer. Whether it had been his northern heritage or the fact that he had been living in these mountains since he was eight, Ned did not seem to be as affected by the cold.

She relished the closeness of Ned and burrowed deeper into his side. He smelled of pine and snow and smoke, a smell that she had come to cherish in the time they had come to know each other.

"Is it this cold in Winterfell?" She asked as he held her hands in his, transferring his warmth to her.

"No," Ned replied "Hot water is constantly piped through the walls from underground springs making the entire castle warm. When your cold, you can go into the godswood and swim in the pool beneath the heart tree. It's fed by an underground hot spring. In winter sometimes Brandon used to get…" Ned smiled sadly at whatever memory was running through his mind and then shook his head, like a dog shaking off water. "But that doesn't matter anymore."

"I want to swim in that pool one day." Ashara said hoping to take his mind off Brandon but it didn't work.

"What did Brandon say that night?"

She doesn't need to ask what night, there could only be one night that he could be speaking of. She remembered it as if it was yesterday.

"He asked me to dance with his younger brother." She replied.

"That's it?"

"Yes. Why? Is something wrong?"

There was a pause as Ned stared up at the sky.

"My whole life I was living in Brandon's shadow. He was the heir, the confident one, the outgoing one, the apple of my father's eye. The handsome one. Everything was meant to go to him and even though it was wrong there were days when I wanted what he had. Everyone always preferred him to me and then you came along. You were the first person that looked at Brandon and passed him over for me. I always wondered if he promised you something more, an incentive to dance with me."

"You mean did I…take him to bed?"

In the starlight she could see the blood rush to his face. "Yes." He whispered back.

"No, I never did. Why?"

"I got everything that was meant to be Brandon's. I'm just wondering if it was worth the cost."

"Ned…you can't think like that."

"I know. It doesn't change the fact I do though."

"Ned if you think like that you'll get nowhere." She reached up and ran her finger along his jawline. "Ned, Brandon's gone. It's what's happened. You have to move on, you have to be there for your family and your house. You need to step up." She smiled then, "Brandon's not there to ask the pretty girls to dance with you anymore. It's all up to you now. Bear it like I know you can. I promised to stand by you and fully intend to keep that promise."

Ned smiled bitterly as his eyes continued to rove the stars above them.

"Ned." She said. "Look at me."

The stubborn fool refused to move his eyes.

"Ned. Look at me."

He still refused, so she pulled away from his embrace and grabbed his face in both hands, pulling it down until his soft grey eyes met her own. "Ned…I love you."

She watched in amusement as he blushed. She leant forward and kissed him deeply, deeper than she had ever kissed him before. Tentatively she pushed out with her tounge, and was surprised to feel Ned's lips melt away before her touch.

It was beautiful, his smell and warmth and feel invading her senses when a cough pulled her from her thoughts. Ned pulled away as though struck and inside she wanted to curse and smack whichever of the two guards had interrupted them. She turned around and glared daggers at the man standing on the edge of the clearing.

A very embarrassed man with the falcon of House Arryn stitched onto his tunic held up a brace of rabbits. "I got dinner M'lord."

"Thank you Albar" Ashara managed to spit out. "I'm sure we will enjoy it very much", though not as much as I was enjoying Ned's warmth, she thought bitterly. Next to her Ned mumbled something along the same lines and it was obvious he was embarrassed about the whole affair.

That night instead of shivering in her own furs, she went over and lay down next to Ned. To her surprise he did not protest, instead he pulled her closer. For the first time since leaving the marginally warmer Eyrie she slept contentedly.


	11. Chapter 11

He wrapped his arm around her waist and savoured the feel of her beneath his hand. Her body seemed to melt beneath his touch, moulding itself to his touch and her lips seemed to be made especially for him. She had kissed him three times now. The first time was at Harrenhall. The second time on the ship in the bay of crabs. The third, last night, had filled him with a fire he didn't know he had in him. Is this the wolf blood he wondered? Is this what Brandon felt like everyday?

He looked down at her sleeping face and smiled. Her mouth was opened slightly and her nose was scrunched up tightly. Her raven black hair framed her pretty face and he wondered what she saw him in.

Eddard Stark was plain, long faced and boring. Ashara Dayne was beautiful, funny and confident; in short everything that Ned was not. She stirred in her sleep and pushed her head closer into his chest, burrowing deeper into the furs they shared. Next to the campfire, Albar stood and shook out his limbs. The moon had reached it's zenith, meaning it was Ned's turn to take watch. He gently extracted himself from Ashara's grasp and slipped out of the furs.

He wandered across to where Albar stood watch and loosened his sword in his scabbard.

"You see anything?" He asked the grizzled guard.

"No. The clansmen have been quiet lately. I'll take a quick piss and then go to sleep."

"Sure."

Albar wandered away into the trees to make water and Eddard took his place, perched on the stone next to the campfire. He pulled his sword from his scabbard and rested it on his knees. He looked up and watched the stars. His thoughts were interrupted by a sound from the bushes in which Albar had disappeared.

"Albar?" He called out softly, getting to his feet and creeping forward. The lack of response chilled him to his bone. "Albar?" He called louder.

A shape flew out of the bushes and landed in front of him with a wet splat. He looked down to see Albar's head, eyes glassy. His head snapped up and he yelled half in shock, half in warning.

A looming shape charged out of the bushes yelling a war cry. Ned brought his sword up and blocked the clansmen's axe. Unexpectedly, the clansmen struck out with a fist that caught Ned on the side of the head, and he stumbled back, stars flashing in his vision.

Denys, the other Vale guardsman saved his life, seeming to appear from nowhere and pushing the clansman back. Ned shook his head and helped Denys push the man back, when two more clansmen emerged from the bushes. Ned's superior weaponry and training soon proved and both of them were lying dead on the end of Ned's blade. He went to help Denys when he was interrupted by a scream from behind him, a high pitched woman's scream. Ashara! He thought with worry as he turned around to see a clansmen dragging her by her hair.

His blood rushed and he flew across the ground to slam into the clansman. They grappled on the floor and in the madness Ned had lost his sword. He managed to get on top of the man and punched him in the face. He felt the man's nose crunch beneath the impact and blood began pouring from it. He didn't stop though, and kept punching and punching and punching and punching until all that was left of the man's face was a jumbled mess of blood and flesh and bone.

Panting with exertion he turned to Ashara. "Are you alright?" he asked. She stared at him with shock. Ned felt light headed suddenly and Ashara rushed over. "Ned, you've been stabbed!"

He looked down in bewilderment to see a vicious dirk sticking out of his side. "Oh," He said, "So I have."

That was the last he remembered before the darkness overtook him.

When he came to, days later, he found himself in a darkened room, a cool coth wiping his head. He groaned at the pain that blossomed in his side when he moved. "Ned?" A voice said and Ashara's beautiful face filled his vision. "You're awake!" She exclaimed as she hugged him tight. He groaned in discomfort as her arms struck where he had been stabbed. "Oh!" She said as she pulled back realising what she had done. "I'm so sorry!"

"Where… are we?"

"Coldwater. Denys has gone to get us a boat. He should be back soon."

"Ashara you have to go home now."

She smiled at him, amused. "Haven't we already had this argument?"

He frowned at her, why did she have to insist on being so difficult all the time. "You are not coming with me." He asserted. "I will not let you on the boat."

"Oh really? And who's going to stop me?"

"I will."

She lifted her finger and placed it right where he had been stabbed, pushing down with the lightest pressure. He squirmed in discomfort.

"Exactly," She said, "You're not going to have much luck stopping me with that wound."

"Ashara," Ned growled at her, "I'm not letting you come with me any further."

"Whatever Ned" She said dismissively as she got up to get him a cup of water. She held the cup to his lips and he drank deeply, quenching his parched throat.

"Why must you be so difficult all of the time?" He asked as he scowled at her.

She laughed at him. "I'm difficult? Your quite difficult yourself you know."

He had to scare her away he decided, that was the only way she would go.

"Ashara it's going to be dangerous crossing the bite at this-"

"Any more dangerous than wandering the mountains of the moon with you getting attacked by savage clansmen?"

"Ashara you-"

"Ned, I've told you once and I'll tell you again. I love you and I fully intend to stick by you until the end."

Gods forgive me, Ned thought as he spoke. "Well I don't love you." He snapped back.

She looked at him her eyebrow raised in query and lent forward. Her lips met his again and his resistance crumbled beneath the touch of her soft lips. And then, as quick as they were there they were gone again and Ned opened his eyes to see an amused Ashara looking down at him.

"An admirable effort Lord Stark. You weren't a very good liar when I first met you and you haven't improved since. I'm coming with you and that's the end of the story."

With a note of finality she got up and left the room, leaving him to stew on the stubborn, annoying woman whose lips were as soft as the sky.


	12. Chapter 12

Robert Baratheon roared with laughter as he smashed his massive war hammer into the Grafton soldier's chest. The man flew backwards, off the ramparts of the walls of Gulltown and into the streets below. Now this was life, Robert thought, this was when a man was either made or broken. Battle stripped away all the frivolities, all that was unnecessary and reduced to his base emotions. The greatest warriors were those who could master their base emotions and channel it into the fight.

Another man charged him on the narrow walkway and he attacked him with glee. His shield crumpled before his Warhammer and soon he was lying broken and bleeding beneath his feet.

"More!" Robert bellowed as he whirled his bloodied hammer above his head. "Bring me more!"

As if in answer, Marq Grafton himself stepped from the mass of defending troops, his sword drawn and shield raised defensively.

"TRAITOR!" Robert bellows as he pointed his hammer at him. "SUBMIT NOW OR DIE!"

Wordlessly, Marq settled into a defensive crouch and smacked his sword upon his shield. The challenge was clear. Robert laughed as he stepped forward swinging his massive hammer like a it weighed as much as a feather. The first of his hits smashed into Lord Grafton's shield and cracked the wood. Grafton responded with a swing of his own, only to be rebuffed by Roberts own shield.

Robert swung again and hit Grafton's shield again, cracking the shield in half. Grafton threw away his ruined shield and put both hands on his sword. A man, most probably one of Lord Grafton's guards rushed forward to defend him, only to have his skull caved in by Robert's hammer.

Robert roared with laughter again and swung his hammer back at Grafton, who attempted to catch it on his sword but failed miserably. Robert swung his hammer again and it crashed into Grafton's chest. The man flew backwards, literally into the arms of his troops, gasping for air as his crumpled chest struggled to inhale properly.

Robert charged into the line of troops without pause, laying waste to the men with giant, sweeping swings of his hammer. Soon the line crumpled and Jon Arryn's loyalist forces were well and truly on the verge of taking the city.

As the line pulled back Marq Grafton's lifeless body was revealed, lying on the cobblestone streets. Robert slung his hammer over his back and picked up the lords lifeless body. He slung it over his shoulder and climbed the wall of the nearest house.

Once he was standing on the roof he held up the body for all the Grafton soldiers to see.

"Your lord is dead! Your walls are broken! Submit and we will be merciful! Fight on and I assure you I will send all of you to the seven hells myself!" Robert boomed.

Gradually but surely the soldiers stopped fighting and soon bent the knee to Jon Arryn, who while an old man, had acquitted himself bravely throughout the battle.

As he watched Jon, Robert's thoughts turned to the rest of his foster family. He wondered if Ned had made it through the Mountains of the Moon yet. He wondered if he had bedded the Dornish wench yet.

Only Eddard Stark would refuse to bed a girl who clearly wanted him. Only Eddard Stark would be so honourably foolish. Only Eddard Stark.

"Robert!" Jon called out as he noticed him standing on the sidelines, "Come here!"

Robert made his way through the thronging masses of celebrating soldiers to stand by his foster father's side.

"Well done," Jon said as he tightly embraced him. "You've made me proud. They say you slew Marq Grafton yourself."

"Aye. I caved in his chest with my war hammer."

Jon sighed. "The fool wanted war, and it was war that he got. Thankfully his son has bent the knee without a fight. Regardless though Robert, I've already made the arrangements regarding your ship. You leave in the morning. See Captain Tristan over there. He'll tell you all about it."

Robert nodded and made his way to the captain Jon had pointed out. Soon he would be home, home to gather his army, and then he would have his chance to kill the man that stole the love of his life.


	13. Chapter 13

Lightning crashed, thunder boomed and the waves rose and fell around them. The rain poured down in sheets, chilling Eddard Stark to the bone. His long hair was plastered to his face, as he huddled beside Ashara in the bowels of the rickety old fishing sloop. It was a horrible storm and many times Eddard had feared their boat would be overwhelmed.

To the fisherman's credit however he had managed to keep the boat afloat. He glanced down at Ashara who had her knees clenched to her chest, and her hands were clenched around the boats railing, so tightly that her knuckles were going white.

Another wave crashed over them, drenching them with salt water. The salt water had managed to get into his stab wound and it was beginning to itch like crazy.

The boat listed horribly and fell down a steep wave and his stomach felt like it was in his mouth. Ashara switched positions suddenly and clutched his arm with all the might of a woman who thought she was about to die.

Ned almost laughed at the irony of the situation. He was a wanted man in Westeros and he was about to die by drowning. It was especially amusing when he realised Aerys had tried to kill his father using fire.

He looked over at the fisherman who was struggling to reel in the sail. Behind him a giant wave loomed, easily 14 foot tall. Ned shouted out a warning but his cry was lost to the howling winds. The wave crashed over the boat, and the boat was under and all Ned was aware of was the water that filled his sense and the hands that clutched his arms. The boat managed to resurface but it was listing heavily. To Ned's horror the fisherman was nowhere to be seen.

Ashara was still clutched to his arms and he noted the tears that streamed down his face. He went to stand, to take the Fisherman's place at the tiller but Ashara tugged him back down.

"Ashara!" He screamed over the wind, "You have to let me go! I need to take the tiller!"

She opened her eyes and saw the fisherman was gone. Her eyes widened in horror and she stood with him as he went for the tiller. They stumbled forward and collapsed next to it. He grabbed the tiller and yanked it straight to stop the boat from listing. Something must have been wrong below the waterline though as the boat only shifted a little bit.

Ned looked out, hoping to see some lights but the waves had risen around the tiny craft and it was in danger of begin swamped again. He yanked on the tiller and managed to scale the wave before it broke its crest. It was when he was sitting on the top of the wave that he first saw the lights. They were far off, to his west and he swung the tiller hard and towards the distant lights.

He kissed Ashara on her forehead. "Don't worry," He whispered into her ear, "I can see lights, I'm heading for them now."

She nodded wordlessly without even opening her eyes.

For the next few hours Ned and the small fishing boat battled their way through the raging seas. When they finally arrived in the port, their boat was listing heavily and to Ned's horror he recognised where he was.

Sisterton.

These men would be just as likely to sell him to Aerys as they would be to return him home. This was not a safe place to be. He looked down at Ashara and realized she would be in danger too.

"Ashara," He said as he pulled her upwards from where she lay, "Ashara, take the tiller."

She nodded her eyes glassy as she stared off into the distance.

"Ashara," he said as he shook her. "If anyone ask's you're a fishermans daughter ok? Your father died on the way here and you took over the boat."

Ashara nodded and Ned's heart almost broke. She looked so broken and such a far cry from the strong woman he knew she was.

They pulled up onto the sandy beach and Ned helped Ashara climb down from the wrecked boat. They made their way into the narrow streets of Sisterton and found a gloomy inn. Ned opened the door and was immediately assaulted by the smell of fish, sweat and ale.

He wandered in, Ashara following and walked over to the innkeeper.

"Two rooms and two bowls of whatever hot food you have." Ned said as he laid some coins on the counter. The innkeeper looked at him suspiciously before picking the coins up and pocketing them. He pointed to a dark table in the corner and Ned went and sat down. Ashara sat down across from him, her face downcast.

Ned watched as the innkeeper wandered over to a man and exchanged words with him. The man nodded and got up and left. A pit of despair rose in Ned's belly. What if he was going to get Lord Borrell?

The innkeeper appeared then clutching two steaming bowls of fish stew. It wasn't nice, but it was hot and for that, Ned appreciated it all the more. He was halfway through his bowl when the guards stormed through the doorway. They made a beeline straight for him and Ashara and he knew he was finished.

"You're coming with me." The guard said as he hefted his sword. "Lord Borrell wants words with you."

Ned sighed, resigned and got to his feet. It felt wrong to go like this. He just had to hope that the gods were watching him. Ned refused to believe that his gods had gotten him through that storm only for him to be taken back to Aerys at Lord Borrell's wishes.

A hand filled his suddenly and Ashara's broken visage, hovered behind him, attempting to hide form the glares of the soldiers.

"Who's she?" He asked harshly.

"The daughter of the fisherman that got me here." Ned replied in a tone that brooked no argument.

The guard nodded and poked him with his sword. "Come on, Lord Borrell's waiting."

The guards marched him out of the inn and up the stoney crags towards Breakwater castle. They entered the grand hall to see Lord Borrell sitting on a great stone seat, his son, Godric Borrell to one side, his Maester to the other.

When Ned entered the Lord burst out laughing. "The guards were right! You do have the Stark look. Since the eldest is dead, the youngest in Winterfell, I'd say you are Eddard Stark."

Ned was sick of the game, he just wanted to go home. "Aye My Lord," Ned said resignedly. "I am Eddard Stark, son of Rickard Stark."

Lord Borrell frowned confused. "You're not going to deny it?"

"What for? I've always been told I'm not very good at lying."

Lord Borrell laughed again. "Very smart Lord Stark. Now tell me should I send you to Aerys or onto White Harbour? See my Maester here? He wants me to send you to Aerys to curry favour."

Ned shrugged. "You can send me to Aerys if you want. Just pray my father never finds out I was here."

Lord Borrell shifted in his seat and leant forward. "So the rumours are true? Your father is alive?"

"Alive? I'd heard he sent a letter to every Lord he could. Did you not receive one?"

"I did. I assumed it was a bluff."

"No. My father is alive."

"Oh well, alive or not I don't care. I'm going to send you home Lord Stark. However if you lose you were never here. Am I clear?"

Ned nodded hardly able to believe his luck.

"There is a boat leaving for the north in the morning. Until then the inn is still open."

Ned nodded and turned to Ashara who was still standing behind him. He hugged her forgetting for a moment where he was.

"Who is she?" Lord Borrell asked.

"The fisherman's daughter. He perished in the storm and she got me here."

Lord Borrell nodded and dismissed them with a wave of his hand. The guards took them back to the inn where they were staying. Ned took Ashara and walked up the staris to where the innkeeper said their rooms where. To Ned's surprise Ashara didn't even try and enter his room, she just went straight to hers.

He bid her goodnight and went to his own room and lay down. He couldn't stop thinking of Ashara and how broken she had been ever since the storm. It seemed nearly dying had cracked something within the beautiful girl. He missed her warmth in his bed, a warmth he had grown accustomed to in the times they had shared furs while travelling the Mountains of the Moon.

He got to his feet and stumbled over to his door. He opened it and crept over to Ashara's door. He knocked softly and put his ear to the door. He heard movement on the other side and soon Ashara was standing in front of him dressed only in a sleeping shift. She looked at him with those haunting purple eyes, and for once he saw no spark of laughter in them.

"Ned?" She asked softly. "What's wrong?"

Wordlessly he stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. He lifted his hands to her face and cradled it in his hands. Leaning forward he pressed his lips to hers and it seemed to awaken something within her. Her fingers curled into his chest as she returned his kiss.

He kissed her like she had kissed him in the Mountains of the moon and then he felt her hands tugging him to her. She pulled him to the bed and pushed him down onto it before sitting down on top of his legs. She continued to kiss him, the tounges warring with each other. Each time their skin connected he felt so…alive, alive like he hadn't felt since before he had heard that Brandon was dead.

Ashara pulled back and she began to pull Ned's shirt off.

"Ashara wait." Ned said. She paused looking down at him. "Is this what you want?" He asked.

She smiled then, and the spark returned to her purple eyes. "Oh Ned," She said. "This is all I've ever wanted."


	14. Chapter 14

The Burnt Lord watched as the ship that he had been smuggled out of King's Landing in pulled up at the pier. The city was obviously preapring for war. The ships were all beached, and in the process of being cleaned and refitted. The sounds of steel striking steel came from the many smithies within the city and all arriving ships were being thoroughly searched to find spies. Looking up, The Burnt Lord noticed the eagles that watched over them all. No doubt their handlers would be watched over safely in the Wolf's Den or another secure location.

As he watched an eagle spotted something it didn't like and swooped down to accost a man who had done something. Seconds later, the snowcloaks, the soldiers who patrolled and guarded the entire North, appeared from the crowds thronging the harbour and took him away for questioning.

The boat stopped moving and The Burnt Lord moved to where the gangplank was being lowered. Lord Wyman Manderly was waiting for him when he ascended from the ships deck.

"Lord Stark," Wyman said as he stepped forward, his enormous girth filling the narrow pier. "It is an honour to host you, I offer my most sincere condolences for the loss of your son. Do not fear Lord Stark, the men of White Harbour will not forget what Aerys has done. We will not let this insult against the Starks stand."

Rickard pulled back his hood and watched as Lord Manderly blanched and flinched away from his horrible visage.

"Do not worry Lord Manderly. My eldest son died in front of my own eyes and I cannot look at my own reflection without being reminded of his sacrifice. I will not let the insult stand even if I have to stand against Aerys alone."

Lord Wyman nodded, still struck at the extent of his scars.

"Come Lord Manderly, report to me on the readiness of the eastern navy. I want to know everything."

Lord Manderly nodded and fell into step beside him as they walked towards the Wolf's Den, the military base of the East. House Stark held four castles and the Wolf's Den was the first, and least, of them. The other castles were Mount Starpoint in the West and Moat Cailin in the Neck. The fourth was Winterfell itself, the ancient seat of the Kings of Winter.

"We have called all the ships back from patrol and have managed to consolidate 70 ships on this side of the Wolf's Maw. Their crews are all present and prepared for an extended engagement and we are just finishing refitting the ones we were using for trade now. By next week the entire Eastern Fleet will be ready to sail. The Warg Legion of Starpoint have sent down five wargs, each of whom use a sea eagle as a companion and on top of that we have a warg of our own who bonded with a blue whale. We also have ten boats already out patrolling the bite, looking for incursions from the royal fleet."

"Have you heard any word from my son Lord Manderly?"

"No your grace, we have given strict orders to all ships to keep an eye out for him, but there was a fierce storm not two nights ago that could very well have sunken his ship."

Rickard snarled at the thought. "My son did not die at sea Lord Manderly and I suggest you never say so again." Then in a lower voice he said "I have already lost one son, I have no intention of losing another. Put out every ship we have available until he's found."

"At once My Lord."

Lord Manderly gestured to a guard and gave him the appropriate instructions. Rickard was distracted by the lithe, young man striding confidently towards them.

"Lord Rickard," He boomed as he engulfed him in a hug, "I'll say you've seen better days!"

The Burnt Lord cracked a smirk. "That I have Beron that I have."

Beron Saltstark, Lord of Saltmaw and Admiral of the Eastern Navy released him from his hug and pulled back to get a better look at him. Beron was one of Brandon's friends from the days of the Wolfpack. He had been raised on the ocean his entire life, and when the opportunity came for him to captain his own ship at 17 years of age he had taken it with both hands. He had quickly risen through the ranks due to his excellent skills and had been named Admiral of the Eastern navy only a year ago. He was 26 now and a powerful lord in his own right.

If anyone understood Brandon and what Rickard had lost it was the man standing in front of him now.

"Brandon was my dearest friend Lord Stark. I know I do not have to tell you how much his death saddens me."

"Aye Beron. It saddens us all. Business now though Beron. I need to convene with all the lords at Moat Cailin. Can you organise a ship to take us through the Wolf's Maw when my son Eddard gets here."

Beron Saltstark bowed his head in deference and ran off to do his bidding. He had a good head on his shoulders Beron, and he would make a good Lord one day, perhaps even Grand Admiral of the Northern Navy.

Lord Manderly rushed forward, having finished given his instructions to his guard. Rickard turned to him. "Summon all the captains to the great hall of the Wolf's Den. I will have words with them."

Lord Manderly nodded and rushed away to do his bidding. Lord Rickard made his way alone to the Wolf's Den, an imposing structure of stone and steel. It had everything required to house the Eastern arm of the north's army. It had a shipyard, a stable, a warg vault, and it sat on the Eastern side of the White Knife, ensuring that none could pass deep into the North without the Stark's knowing about it.

The Grand Hall was a modest one and extremely martial. The only decorations were two Stark banners hanging from the walls beside the hearth. The captains were already gathered by the time he got there. There was 57 of them so he assumed some were late and the others were out patrolling the bite.

"Captains." He said as he ascended the platform and sat in the carved seat that acted as throne. The bowed their heads in deference and murmured replies. Many were transfixed by the state of his face and openly stared. Rickard didn't care. Let them see, let them look upon my visage and see what Aerys has done. Let my face fill their nightmares so they don't forget what we're fighting for. They all stood watching expectantly waiting for him to give his orders.

"Captains of the ships of the East. Look at my face. See the scars and remember when you go into battle. This is what we are fighting against. If we lose this war this is the fate of us all. Aerys knows no mercy. As such, we shall know no mercy. Take every ship you see. Put their crews to the sword. Take no prisoners. Give them the same mercy Aerys was prepared to give me and my son. Am I clear?"

The men nodded.

"Good. I promised my son I would avenge him and I intend to see that promise through."


	15. Chapter 15

They had left in the morning. The ship was a smuggler's vessel belonging to a man named Tristan Stone. Thankfully the storm had ended and they were quickly on their way and streaming across the choppy waters of the bite. Ashara stood next to him, her arms clasped around his waist, her head resting on his shoulder. Last night seemed to have awoken her from the stupor that had consumed her since they had left the fingers.

Last night.

Ned felt funny thinking about it. It made him feel warm inside, and instead of just his lips tingling with a phantom memory, it was his entire body. It had been glorious. He had tried to apologise when they woke up and his face still hurt from where she had slapped him.

Ned opened his eyes to see Ashara staring at him, smiling softly, her purple eyes twinkling. "Someone enjoyed last night…" She said with a smirk. To his shame he felt the blood rush to his face and somewhere else. He looked down in embarrassment and noted she was still naked, a fact that didn't help the blood rushing around his body.

"A-a-Ashara." He managed to stammer out, "I'm so sorry!"

"Sorry," She said with a frown, "Sorry for what?"

"For dishonouring you! I shouldn't have-"

She sat up so quickly Ned was almost knocked off the bed. Her haunting eyes had lost their twinkle and were instead replaced with a cold fury. She raised her hand and slapped him hard.

"What was that for!?" He asked as he clutched his burning cheek.

"You dare to apologise as though what we did was wrong?!"

"But it was!"

She slapped him again even harder this time. He clutched his face and glared at her. Why did she have to be so confusing? They spent a moment like that just glaring at each other before Ned averted his gaze.

"I'm sorry if I upset you by apologising." Ned said. He was met with silence and a Stoney glare. "If it means anything I did enjoy it."

Her gaze softened then and she smiled at him. She had kissed him again then and before he knew it he was spending himself in her again much to her pleasure if her grunts and moans were anything to go by.

Afterwards they had lain together, a tangled mess of wet hair and sticky limbs and worshiped each other's bodies with their mouths. It had been a morning and night of absolute bliss and if Ned could spend the rest of his life in the cramped little room that stunk of fish and sweat and sex he would have done so.

The beautiful girl smiled at him now and for the life of him he could barely take his eyes off her.

"What are you thinking about now?" She asked.

Ned blushed. "Last night." He whispered. Her smile grew wider then, to reveal her pearly white teeth. She grabbed him and pulled his ear down to her mouth. "There's more where that came from." She said. Her warm breath tickled his ear and left his blood running around his body again.

Ned and Ashara were interrupted by a cry from the crow's nest at the top of the mast. "Sail to Starboard!"

The captain, a short, squat, black bearded man pulled his Myrish spyglass from his vest and held it too his eye. "It's flying your father's banners Lord Stark." He informed them.

"Be cautious just in case it's a ploy from the Targaryen's." Ned said as he checked the sword at his side. The captain held out his spyglass for Ned to take. "Do you recognise anyone?" He asked.

Ned held the looking glass to his eye and inspected the crew. None seemed familiar to him until he saw the man standing on the command deck, a looking glass held to his eye as well. As he watched the man lowered his glass and started waving at him, a great big smile etched onto his handsome face.

A smile split Ned's face as he watched his friend make a fool of himself in front of his crew. He lowered the spyglass and raised his own hand in reply.

"Do you know them?" The captain asked.

"Know them. Aye. Me and Beron Saltstark are familiar."

"That's Beron Saltstark?!" The captain exclaimed staring at the distant ship with shock.

"Who's Beron Saltstark?" Ashara asked with a frown. "Was he at Harrenhall?"

"Who's Beron Saltstark?" The captain exclaimed. "You don't know Beron Saltstark! He's only one of the greatest captain's to have ever sailed the bite! He's the lord of Saltmaw, the eastern mouth of the Wolf's Maw and an Admiral of the Eastern Navy!"

"In short Ashara, a very impressive man, and a very close friend of the Starks." Ned finished, noting the deepening furrow of her brow.

The ship cut through the water, until the two ships were across from each other.

"HO!" Beron called out in his booming voice. "Your father has mobilised the entire fleet to search for you!"

"Have you seen him?" Ned called back.

"Aye. I've seen the Burnt Lord. I'll warn you though Ned, he's changed. Harsher, less relaxed."

Ned grimaced. "I'll meet you in port! We'll talk further there!"

Beron nodded and turned to his crew who immediately began preparing his boat to return to port. Ned turned to his own captain. "Take us to White Harbour."

A few days later and they were pulling into White Harbour. His father was standing on the pier to greet him, along with Lord Manderly and Lord Seastark, who had somehow managed to beat them back. His father's face was covered by the cowl of his cloak and he wore full plate armour that covered his entire body. He had heard his father was scarred but he couldn't see anything that seemed out of place.

Next to him Ashara clutched his hand tightly. She was worried that his father would force the marriage to Catelyn Tully on him. She had confessed as much to him last night as they had lain together. He gave her hand a squeeze and kissed her forehead. He had promised her that he would do everything in his power to ensure that he could marry her.

When she had asked if he would disobey his father's direct command. He stumbled over his words and shook his head. She had smiled sadly, kissed him on the head and promptly told him that "that was why I fell in love you."

The captain lowered the gangplank and Ned descended to greet his father, Ashara following in his wake. "Father." He said in greeting as he bowed his head. To his great surprise his father engulfed him in a bear hug and began sobbing into his shoulder. He patted his father on the back and warmly embraced him back.

After a while his father pulled away and stepped back. He reached up and pulled back his hood to reveal a horribly burned face. Next to him Ashara screamed in shock and behind him he heard the sound of one of the sailors retching.

He stared upon his visage and realised why Beron had called him The Burnt Lord.

"Did Brandon…suffer like this?" Ned asked as he gestured to his face.

His father's face became filled with such sorrow, fury and anger that Ned was almost taken aback.

"Your brother sacrificed his life to save mine. His sacrifice shall not be forgotten. I have taken out a blood debt against Aerys. I intend to take from him what he took from me, and then some more."

"My Lord." Ashara said as she stepped forward. Rickard frowned at her. "Who is this Ned?"

"Father, this is Lady Ashara Dayne. This is the lady I wrote to you about before Brandon's wedding."

"What she stayed with you from Saltpans?" Rickard asked increduosly.

Ashara stirred. "I stayed by his side as I promised I would. I travelled with him to the Eyrie through the Mountains of the Moon and almost died attempting to cross the bite with him. Do not underestimate my love for your son. I fully intend to marry him once this war is over. Regardless, I have a favour to ask of you. My close friend, Princess Elia Martell, is innocent of any crimes committed against your family. I ask that you spare her life and that of her children."

Ned looked at his father fearfully, but to his surprise saw amusement and admiration dancing in his father's eyes. It was swiftly replaced by a cold gaze however as he watched and his heart sunk.

"Ah yes," his father said. "I remember your dear friend. She was present the day I was burned. Every night I see her and a hundred others in my dreams. They are laughing and mocking as I was burned alive and my son was forced to watch. I have sworn to kill all who watched me burn that day. There will be no exception for your friend, or her incest riddled children!"

With that his father turned and stormed away, leaving him to console Ashara. She looked up at him fearfully. "Please don't let any harm come to them." She begged. "They are innocent in all this!"

"It's alright," He said as he stroked her hair. "I promise to do all I can to protect them."


	16. Chapter 16

Beron turned to him, his normally jovial face, twisted in a grimace. "I did warn you." He said as he watched Rickard Stark's retreating figure. "What he's been through has changed him."

Ned nodded and continued to cradle Ashara in his arms. "Ashara." He said. She looked up at him with her twinkling purple eyes and smiled sadly.

"What?" She asked.

"You're going home now. Home to Starfall."

Ashara rolled her eyes at him. "How many times are we going to have this argument?" She asked.

He rolled his eyes right back. "This time it's not an argument alright. You're going home. I will not let you stay here to be used by my father as some sort of pawn in his quest for vengeance."

Ned turned to Beron. "Beron can you organise a ship to take Ashara home. I'm going to go and speak to my father."

With that Ned turned and hurried down the pier after his father. He caught up with him in the streets of White Harbour, halfway to the Wolf's Den. His father acknowledged him with a quick nod as he fell into step beside him but he otherwise ignored him until they entered the war room of the fortress.

"I received a letter from Hoster Tully when I arrived back. He wants to know if I will still honour the betrothal between the Starks and Tullys." His father said as he watched him with his steely grey eyes.

"I know." Ned replied his heart sinking in his chest. "He wrote to Jon Arryn too."

"And?"

Ned pulled back the sleeve of his tunic and showed his father the Weirwood bracelet wrapped around his wrist. His father's gaze softened and he stared at the bracelet sorrowfully. "Brandon wanted one of those desperately. I told him no. If I had just said yes maybe we he'd still be with us now."

"Maybe." Ned replied, "Though probably not. Brandon always had the wolf blood. What did you tell him though that made him decide to marry the Tully girl?"

His father glanced at him, guilt etched into the burnt lines of his face. "It doesn't matter."

"It does. First you wanted to marry Brandon to the Tully girl, then Lyanna to Robert, what were you planning? War or something?"

The guilt and surprise in his father's eyes told him all he needed to know.

"You were planning for war!" He exclaimed incredulously. "What madness led you to pursue that course of action?"

"It doesn't matter anymore."

"Doesn't matter!" Ned almost yelled, "It cost my brother his life!"

That stirred a reaction from his father. He flew from his seat and grabbed Ned by his throat. He threw him back against the wall hard, knocking his head so hard he saw stars.

"Listen here you insolent little pup, only one man was responsible for Brandon's death and he is sitting in King's Landing. As I've always told you, summer is the time for squabbles. In winter, we must protect one another, keep each other warm, and share our strengths. We are in winter now, and I require your total support! Once this war is done you can condemn and hate me then, until then I expect you to fight for the pack as any dutiful son would, as Brandon would."

He shoved him in the throat once more, before pulling back and resuming his seat at the head of the table. He sat down and gestured for Ned to take a seat. Ned did so, his throat still burning from where his father had grabbed him.

"Now." His father began, "The Lords have convened at Moat Cailin. We will be travelling there with Beron on the morrow. The girl will not be coming with us, regardless of your bracelet."

Ned went to protest but his father held up a hand.

"You do however have my permission to marry her once the war is done."

Ned stopped. "What of Hoster Tully?"

"If he's smart he'll stay out of my way. If he's not then I'll show him that this Burnt Lord still has bite."


	17. Chapter 17

Saltsmaw first appeared as a distant smudge upon the horizon but soon it could be clearly and it made Rickard swell with pride. It was an eternal reminder of the men who had held these lands for 8000 years, his ancestors, the Kings of Winter. From solid rock, a giant direwolf's head had been carved. The river spilt from its maw on the evening tide, and on the morning tide rushed in. Fires burned in the direwolves eyes, providing a guiding light for all ships in the evening.

As they watched a howl cut through the air, made by the giant horns inside the wolves' nostril, warning the defenders of the Saltsmaw of the ships approach. In the port to the side sat the ships that had been on the wrong side when the river was shut.

Next to him Ned stirred. "I'll never cease to be amazed by that."

"Me neither." Rickard said as Beron strode up beside them.

"Nothing as imposing as a giant stone wolf's head hey?" Beron said with a grin as he clapped Ned on the back.

Ned smiled. "You always knew how to make the imposing seem humorous."

"I grew up in those halls and when my father dies I will rule those halls." Beron laughed. "To me it's nothing more than home!"

Beron's father, Brandon Seastark, was an aged older man who was considered among Winterfell's most loyal bannermen. Their house was founded by Torrhen Stark's second son, Artos Stark, who upon receiving the Saltsmaw fortress, dubbed himself the Saltstark. His family took the name and ever since carried it as theirs, along with the title, Lord of Saltsmaw.

As they passed beneath the shadow of the salty wolf's jaws he looked up to see the numerous murder holes covering the narrow entrance. A man moved up next to Beron.

"My lord, I should take control from here." He said. Beron nodded and handed the tiller to him. He took it and began guiding the craft through the twisting turning river. Perhaps the river's greatest defence was its natural geography. Many a ship had come undone attempting to get through its narrow, twisting halls. Truth be told, very few knew the secret of travelling the hallowed halls of the Wolf's Maw. Those men, one of who was steering the boat now, were known as the pilots, and were raised from birth travelling the river. Each pilot took only one apprentice in his entire life, and when the pilot died, his apprentice would take his place. The apprentices were handpicked by the Lords of the Maw and met with the lord of Winterfell himself before he could begin. Rickard remembered turning many a boy down that he didn't feel would be able to make it, but for every five that failed, one would pass.

The darkness enveloped the ship, only being cut by the lanterns that hung form stern and prow. The stone walls rushed past with dizzying speed. Rickard had travelled this river more times than he cared to remember, but each time he was still left with a pounding heart at the speed of the river and the fearlessness of the men who rode it.

Beron turned to him. "It's best you get some shut eye. It's a long ride to the Wolf's Eye."

Rickard nodded and went and lay down at the prow of the ship, wrapping himself in the grey cloak he had come to wear constantly ever since he was burned.

Hours later he was roughly shaken away by a hand and opened his eyes to see Beron standing over him.

"We're almost there," He said "I didn't want you to miss the sight."

Rickard nodded and got to his feet. Ned was already standing on the prow, eyes searching the darkness in front of the boat. He moved to stand beside him and searched the area around him, looking for the light that betrayed the presence of the eye.

"How did the girl take what I said?" He asked him. Ned glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes.

"Ashara was happy and upset." He replied "It was confusing."

"She's a woman. Their meant to be. Gods, sometimes your mother left my head spinning in circles."

Ned smiled. "There it is" He said as he pointed out into the darkness. Rickard's gaze followed the direction his arm was pointing and caught the light as well. A single shaft of light pierced the darkness and soon the sounds of rushing waters filled his ears.

The pilot called out and the rowers took their positions. They began to back oar furiously, slowing the boat drastically. The eye first appeared as a line of jagged rocks, stretching out of the water, but soon revealed itself to be a tear in the fabric of the world. The waters of the river fell into the hole and disappeared into its black void. None who had ever entered it's black depths had ever returned and many considered it to be the edge of the world.

As the ship glided by Rickard turned his gaze to the other notable thing of interest in the chamber. It was a small port where five ships were currently docked, and behind them, the giant stone doors that led into the ancient fortress that was Moat Cailin. Their boat pulled into the docks and the men manning the structure quickly lashed the boat to the moorings, ensuring the boat wouldn't catch the current and drift into the Wolf's Eye.

The gangplank was lowered and he descended from the boat and onto the dock. With Ned and Beron following, and accompanied by four guards, they made their way through the stone doors, up the twisting corridors and before the doors of the great hall of Moat Cailin, where the majority of the Lords of the North were assembled. Rickard turned to Ned and Beron. "Are you two ready?" He asked.

Both nodded. Rickard pulled up the hood of his cloak, concealing his burnt features and turned to the guards holding the door. "Open it."

The doors swung open and Rickard Stark, The Burnt Lord, stepped forward into the hall. Immediately he was assaulted by a cacophony of shouting and yelling. With a straight back, his son on his right, and one of his most trusted advisors on his left, he began the long walk to the carven seat that acted as the seat of Moat Cailin. As the lords noticed his presence the shouting and yelling dwindled away until it was non-existent. A hundred pairs of eyes followed The Burnt Lord's progress from door to seat.

Rickard reached the seat and paused. He turned around and stopped. Slowly he reached up and pulled back his hood, to reveal the horrible visage of The Burnt Lord, in all its terrible glory. He was greeted with utter silence, which he supposed was better than Lady Dayne's reaction.

"Lords of the North," He began, "Look upon the face of your burned liege and know what we are fighting for!"

With that he sat down in the carven throne. Ned took the seat to his right and Beron, the seat to his left.

"I call this meeting to order." He said with a wave of his hand and yet the shouting match did not resume. The Lords were still staring at him with horror etched into the lines of their faces. Poor Theon Redstark, the 12 year old boy lord of Newport, a town on the Stoney Shore, looked like he was about to throw up whatever he had for breakfast. Rickard sighed. Clearly an explanation was in order.

"My Lords, by now you will have no doubt noticed my new look. It was given to me by Aerys at the cost of my eldest son, a debt I fully intend to repay. Now can we get into the business of preparing for war?"

Lord Rodrick Ryswell got to his feet. "Lord Stark, the rumours coming from the south are most interesting. They say your son…skinchanged into a wolf and freed you. Is it true?"

"Yes, Brandon skinchanged. How I do not know, but he did do it. He killed 37 guards, 102 goldcloaks and two sworn brothers of the Kingsguard, before escaping with me. They say they are still looking for him in fleabottom now."

This declaration was met with silence, until finally a small crannogman stirred. "My Lord," He said as he stepped forward, "It is known that the Crannogmen are no strangers to the magic of the old gods and many of our own are greenseers and wargs, so I must ask, has the White Wolf risen?"

Rickard scowled. This was perhaps going to be the biggest obstacle to war with Aerys. Rickard stood to his feet.

"No." Rickard replied. This created the uproar that he had been absent earlier. "We cant go to war without the White Wolf!" One Lord cried, "The gods won't be with us!"

Rickard breathed in through his burnt nose and closed his eyes. This was standing in the way of his vengeance. "ENOUGH!" He roared. The hall quieted immediately.

"We all know the story of what Brandon Snow did after Torrhen Stark bent the knee so I won't bore you all with details you already know. We all know of Brandon's visions as he wrote them down in the Book of the Bastard, a book which house Stark has protected and kept hidden for 283 years now. The White Wolf was Brandon's promised saviour of the North, he would give the Northman what they so desperately wanted, their independence. Let me make something abundantly clear. This is no war for independence, this is a war of vengeance." Rickard paused. "I am fighting this for my son, my eldest son, who many of you knew and loved and who was killed by Aerys! The White Wolf will delvier us from the south. I will deliver us from the dragon's jaws! Enough is enough I say! Three times we have been insulted by Targaryen kings! The first was Baelor the fucking blessed, the second was Aegon the Oath breaker and now Aerys the mad! I will not suffer under dragons any longer! I will throw Aerys from his ill-gotten throne and put someone on it who I actually respect and like!"

Rickard breathed in, struggling to keep a lid on his emotions. Next to him his son stood.

"My Lords," Ned called, "I am as wary of fighting in the south as any of you, but we cannot afford to not fight. Aerys has called for the heads of me, my younger brother and my father. My sister has been taken by Rhaegar and my elder brother has been killed by Aerys. If we do not march south then the south will march on us. If there has ever been a time to march south it is now. We have allies in Jon Arryn and Robert Baratheon. Tywin Lannister will not march against us, and hopefully Hoster Tully will march with us."

"And what of the Tully girl?" Rodrick Ryswell called out. Rickard went to answer but Ned stopped him with a glare.

"What of her?" Ned asked the lord.

"Will she be marrying you now that Brandon's dead?"

"No." Ned replied. "I have already been betrothed before the old gods." He held up his arm to reveal the weirwood bracelet and Rickard saw that many a lord smiled happily, while just as many frowned in disappointment.

"And who is the girl you are betrothed to?" Lord Ryswell called.

"Oh who cares!" The Greatjon Umber called out, "He's found a girl for himself. Congratulations Ned. We've got a war to fight and some heads to smash!"

"Thank you Lord Umber," Ned said with a bow of his head and a gracious smile, "However to answer your question Lord Ryswell, I am betrothed to Lady Ashara of house Dayne."

"So the North loses one southern lady only to gain another!" Lord Ryswell mocked.

Rickard had enough of the presumptuous fool, always trying to weasel his daughter into the role of the next lady of Winterfell. He got to his feet and stormed down to where lord Ryswell was seated. He grabbed him by the scruff of his collar and pulled him close.

"Listen here," He snarled into his ear, "If you don't want part in this war go home. Go home and once I'm done Aerys I'll come back, tear your keep to the ground, hang you for an oath breaker, murder your sons and marry your daughters into the south! Got it?"

Lord Ryswell swallowed audibly and nodded.

"So what's your choice?" Rickard asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I'll march south." Lord Ryswell whispered. Rickard Stark bared his teeth and smiled.

"Good."

Behind him he heard the Greatjon burst into laughter. "Ha!" He called, "It seem this Burnt Lord still has bite left in him! Now can we plan for war?!"

Rickard turned around and smiled at the large lord.

"At once. I have a blood debt to repay."


	18. Chapter 18

Ashara Dayne was sick of boats. She was sick of the endless expanse of Blue Ocean, sick of the way the boat rocked and the smell of salt. As such she was almost glad when the stench of King's Landing filled her nostrils. Almost. If she had of listened to Ned she would have returned to Starfall, but instead she had boarded a ship for King's Landing. She still remembered their departure and the mixed bag of emotions it had left within her.

_She heard a light knocking at her door and opened it to reveal her Ned standing there. "Ned!" She exclaimed with a smile as she enveloped him in a hug._

_"Ashara." Ned greeted her as he returned her hug warmly._

_She hadn't seen Ned in hours, ever since he had wandered off with his father. She had been left standing on the pier like an idiot until Lord Manderly invited her to freshen up in his castle. He was a jovial and genial man, often acting the fool, but she sensed it was an act, a cover for a very intelligent and cunning man that lay beneath the many rolls of fat that surrounded him._

_He had escorted her to a room and then left her to her own devices. She had rested and bathed but soon she was bored and staring at the walls. But now Ned was here._

_"What did your father say?" She asked, half dreading the answer._

_Ned smiled at her. "He said I could marry you."_

_Ashara's heart soared. "What of Catelyn Tully?"_

_Ned laughed. "My father said Hoster Tully will get out of his way or he'll show him that 'The Burnt Lord' still has bite."_

_"When will we marry?" She asked him._

_"Once the war is done." He said with a grin._

_Her heart dropped in her chest. "Once the war is done?"_

_His smile faltered. "Yes. I'll come to Starfall myself and we can marry in the Godswood there."_

_She frowned now. "Why can't I marry you know?"_

_Ned sighed at her. "Ashara you're going home. If we lose the war then no one will be any wiser and you can marry who you wish."_

_"But I want to marry you."_

_"I know. Ashara remember when you promised me to stay by my side and you did?"_

_"Yes."_

_"I promise to win the war, and then to come to Starfall and marry you."_

He had promised her and she would hold him to his promise. Even if she would not hold herself to the promises she had made him. She had promised to go home to Starfall and wait out the war, but Elia needed her.

She descended from the boat that had carried her to King's Landing and begun the trek up the shit stained streets to the Red Keep. Elia had been on Dragonstone until recently when she had been recalled to court by Aerys.

She entered through the red gates, that only recently had seen the death of the northern lords that had accompanied Rickard and Brandon Stark respectively. Soon she entered Elia's chambers within the Maidenvault. Elia was sitting there, nursing Aegon with one arm and playing with Rhaenys with the other.

"Hello Elia!" She said casually as she strolled over to the wine.

"Ashara?!" Elia hissed. "What are you doing here?"

"I've come to serve you My Lady. I am your handmaiden."

"But what about your suitor?" She asked.

"He has promised to marry me still."

"Really? And he let you come back here?"

"Not exactly. I mean he did promise to marry me, but he told me to go home to Starfall. I agreed and instead came here."

"What for? It's war Ashara! You'd be safer in Starfall!"

"I know. My princess needed me though."

Elia sighed. "He must really love you if he let you go. I thought you were going to be used as a hostage!"

"From what I understand that is what his father wanted to do, but he refused."

"So it's true then?"

"What's true?"

"His father lives?"

"Lives? Yes, I guess you could say that. He seems to be consumed by thoughts of…vengeance though."

Ashara turned to Elia then. "Elia…tell me true…on the day Rickard Stark was burned did you laugh at him?"

Elia looked horrified. "NO!" She exclaimed. "The only one who was laughing was the king. Everyone else was dead silent, I think poor Ser Jamie even wet his breeches!"

Ashara sighed. "He has sworn to kill you and your children."

Elia's pretty face twisted into a snarl. "And what? Put his daughter in my place? Make his daughter Rhaegar's wife?"

Ashara shook her head. "I don't think so. When I left all he was talking about was repaying his blood debt."

"His blood debt?"

"Yes. He seems to think he owes Aerys something."

Elia smirked then. "Oh but he does."

"He does? What could he possibly owe him?"

"Why what Aerys took from him. His eldest son. He owes him the life of his eldest son."

"That means…"

"He plans to kill Rhaegar…" Elia finished with a triumphant grin. "And then Aegon shall be king."

Ashara had been serving Elia for a month now and reports had arrived that the northern vanguard had entered the Riverlands and was marching to meet Jon Arryn at the Crossroads inn, while in the Stormlands, Robert had been mustering his banners and crushing dissenting lords. On the particular morning that they received the news of his march form Storm's End, Ashara had been sitting with Elia when she had suddenly felt the urge to throw up. She had rushed to the chamber pot and disgorged that morning's breakfast. Elia had watched her strangely before dismissing everyone else from the room.

"Ashara," She asked once everyone had left the room, "When was the last time you bled?"

Ashara's heart dropped as she considered the response. Her silence told Elia all she needed to know apparently.

"Just as I thought." Elia said. "Is he the father?"

Ashara felt tears spring to eyes. She was going to have a child. She was going to have Ned's child! He had better marry her now! She nodded at Elia. "He is the father." She whispered.


	19. Chapter 19

**(AUTHORS NOTE: I recently got a comment about Jon Snow being the White Wolf, the promised saviour of the North, and how I had made it so obvious. Just to clarify, I never actually meant to hide this. In this story Jon Snow is the White Wolf that Rickard Stark spoke of. With that out of the way, I wanted to thank all of you for your support and feedback, I really appreciate it!)**

Ned Stark watched as his troops, the northern vanguard, marched down the causeway of the neck and into the Riverland's. The vanguard, numbering 20,000 men, was made up of 12,000 light cavalry, who constantly guarded the moat, 5000 of the Winter Wolves and the 3000 soldiers of Mount Starpoint, the beating heart of the northern army.

The 3000 soldiers of Mount Starpoint, called the Weirwood Warriors, were the most elite soldiers in all of the North, if not Westeros. They were men chosen by the Green men at a young age. They were taken at five and spent their entire lives dedicated to becoming the greatest fighters the north could field. All of them were accomplished with the bow, lance and sword, as well as being skilled wargs. Indeed, part of the training was spent in the Wolfswood, where boys of 10 would be left and told not to return until they had warged with a wolf. The most impressive of all of the Winter Wolves however was their Lord Commander, a man by the name of Rodrick Walton. He was an incredibly tall and incredibly gaunt man. He had black hair, and steely grey eyes that seemed to stare right through a man. He wore steel armour, inlaid with bronze, and a Weirwood mask, that had Weirwood sap dripping out of its eyes, giving the appearance of a crying face. In many ways the mask reminded Ned of the heart tree in Winterfell. He had a Weirwood bow, slung over his back along with a quiver of arrows, and resting at his side was the Sword of Starpoint.

The sword of Starpoint was a blade that was held by the Lord Commander of the Winter Wolves, and it was made of the same metal as Arthur Dayne's greatsword, Dawn; that being Starsteel. The blades name was Harbinger, and it had a past that was as storied as Ice. It was first forged and wielded by the first Lord Commander of the Weirwood Warriors, Brandon Snow, a man whose moniker was Bloody Brandon the Blessed. From then it had been passed from Lord Commander to Lord Commander until it rested by Rodrick's side today.

Rodrick Walton had warged with two wolves, an eagle and he rode a tremendous White Hart. He rode beside Ned now, his White Hart dutifully plodding along, and his eyes constantly scanning the tree line. The man was a true warrior, and one that Ned rightfully feared. The soldiers of Starpoint, though untested in real battle, were without a doubt fearsome and fearless fighters, rivalling even the Unsullied soldiers of Astapor in their unwavering devotion to their duty.

As Ned watched a giant golden eagle soared down from the clouds and alighted on Rodrick Walton's shoulder.

"The road is clear as far south as the crossroads inn. Jon Arryn has assembled his forces there." Rodrick said, as he scratched the eagle under the chin. Ned nodded.

"How many more days of marching do you reckon we've got ahead of us?" Ned asked the grizzled man. Rodrick shrugged.

"I don't know. I haven't travelled these lands before, but from what I could see I'll say maybe 2 and half weeks."

Ned nodded. "Are than any troop movements away from the Kingsroad?"

"Aye. Many of the minor lords are summoning their troops. I saw troops at Castle Darry, the Twins, Seaguard and Fairmarket."

Ned sighed. It seemed Hoster Tully was set on his daughter becoming the next Lady of Winterfell and was refusing to move until he was assured of such a fact.

"My Lord," Rodrick said. "Do you have a plan for what happens if Hoster Tully declares for the Targaryens?"

"No." Ned sighed. "I don't want to fight the man, but I can't marry his daughter now that I have been betrothed to another."

"If he values the lives of his family hopefully he will stand by you."

Ned glanced at the old soldier out of the corner of his eye. He was scowling yet still watching the treeline. "I don't want children or women murdered for this war Rodrick. It's dishonourable."

Rodrick Walton turned to him, his face one of query. "Tell me Lord Stark, what is the greater dishonour? To kill a man to save a battle, or to fight the battle to save the man?"

"What?" Ned said, confused.

"Honour is all well and true in Summer Lord Stark, but we are in winter now and we have no place for honour beyond what the old god's demand of us."

Ned frowned. "Well then why didn't you just kill me to save this battle?"

"I swore an oath to the Stark in Winterfell. I swore no oath to the Targaryen in King's Landing. I served your Grandfather and father dutifully Lord Stark. When the time comes I shall serve you too."

"So what of Elia Martell and her children? Do you think my father is justified in calling for their heads?"

"There is no greater dishonour than needless killing Lord Stark. Your father is still getting over the death of his eldest son. I do not think he will order their deaths when the time comes. As much as your father wants to forget the man he was, you cannot shed your nature like you can clothes. Your father was an honourable man, though perhaps not as god-fearing as I or others would have liked. When the time comes he will do the honourable thing."

"Tell me Rodrick, do you think we will win this war without the White Wolf?"

Rodrick shifted on the back of the White Hart. "I never wanted to be here without the White Wolf by my side, but your father forced all of our hands. However I can understand your father's reasoning. To go to war with the dragons is not to declare independence. That will be our only saving grace if the gods are truly watching."

The two men fell into silence after that, Ned contemplating Rodrick's words and watching the countryside slip by. In the distance he saw a Weirwood growing in the forest.

"They say you have a man who has the greensight. Is it true?" Ned asked.

"It is." Rodrick replied.

"Has he seen anything?"

"I don't know. I prefer not to know."

"Why? Surely knowledge can help us win."

"Not all knowledge. If I knew what my greenseer knew I could become comfortable in the superiority of my own knowledge and make a mistake that dooms us all. Lets say for example that my greenseer tells me there will be a battle tomorrow and I will win. As such, I go to sleep confident in my abilty to win and don't plan properly. As such I lose. Do you understand why some knowledge is dangerous now?"

Ned nodded. In the distance the sun was beginning to set. He stopped his horse and turned to the host following him. "We'll set up camp here for the night." He told the men following him and they turned to relay it to the rest of his forces. "In the morn, we double time the march until we reach the crossroads."

The sun was shining high in the sky when they finally reached the Crossroads Inn. Jon Arryn was there with Bronze Yohn Royce to greet him and Rodrick as they entered the encampment.

"Ned!" Jon called as he walked across and embraced him in a hug. "How was your trip through the Mountains of the Moon?"

"Rough!" Ned replied. "I got stabbed by a clansmen!"

Jon smiled. "They're getting bold. When this war is done I might ride into the mountains and remind them of why we hold the Vale! Now who's this old soul with you?"

Ned turned to Rodrick who had dismounted his White Hart and was watching them with his steely grey eyes.

"Jon meet Rodrick Walton, Lord Commander of the Weirwood Warriors, Rodrick meet Jon Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie and protector of the Vale."

"Lord Arryn." Rodrick said as he inclined his head.

"It's a pleasure to meet you." Jon replied. With that he turned back to Ned. "I've already made the arrangements of our trip to meet with Hoster Tully. I'll have an escort of 50 men, I suggest you take the same. I don't think we will, but it's possible we might need to fight our way out of it if you insist on marrying Lady Dayne."

Rodrick stepped forward and placed a hand on the pommel of his sword. "It is not a choice Lord Arryn," He spat, "It has been ordained by the gods. To refuse to marry her now would be to bring ruin and shame upon his house."

Jon Arryn smiled. "But of course. I assure you I meant no offense Lord Rodrick. I was only stating the reality of our situation."

Rodrick harrumphed and stepped back yet refused to take his hand off his sword.

"It's alright Rodrick," Ned said, "Jon is just ignorant of our customs. He meant no offense. Can you gather 50 of the Weirwood Warriors, and prepare them for an immediate departure."

"Immediate?" Jon said. "Are you sure you don't want to rest first?"

"I'll rest once the war is done," Ned said as he remounted his horse. "Rodrick, you're in charge here until I return."


	20. Chapter 20

Rickard Stark swelled with a savage sense of pride as he watched the northern army march into the depths of Moat Cailin. They were marching into the vast underground cave system that criss-crossed the entire continent. The idea to use it as a means of transportation was first thought up of by Cregan Stark, the old man of the north. He had gotten the idea from the stories of the brother Kings-Beyond-The-Wall, Gendel and Gorne, who used an underground system of caves to totally bypass the defences of the wall. He had spent much of his tenure as Lord of Winterfell mapping out the underground caves using wargs. Many a warg had been driven mad losing their animals in the intricate cave system, but at the end of it the North had access to pretty much the entirety of Westeros. The mapped tunnels stretched as far south as the Kingswood and deep into the Western hills. The Vale of Arryn had no mapped tunnels however as the rocky and mountainous terrain made it treacherous for the tunnels.

He was leading the main force of the Northern Army, a force that was 50,000 strong. He had left 40,000 troops back in the North, sent the vanguard, 20,000 strong to the Crossroads Inn and sent the other 30,000 men south with Beron Seastark. If all went to plan, Rhaegar would find himself trapped between three armies.

It would be a glorious slaughter, one for the ages to remember. Then, once Rhaegar was in his clutches he would finally repay his debt to Aerys, and leave him a permanent reminder of exactly who he had provoked. For what was a 300 year old dragon to a direwolf of 8000 years? A direwolf that has outlasted the greatest empires of Essos and outlasted the famed dragons of the dragonlords of Valyria? A reckoning was coming for those that had dared to insult him, and the insult had been most grave and cost him his eldest son. Next to him his greatest Lords and generals moved into formation beside him. Together they spurred their horses forward and descended into the underground, ready for conflict with any who stood in The Burnt Lord's way.


	21. Chapter 21

**I'm sorry about the shortness of the previous chapter, but it needed to set the scene for something later. There is only one other chapter that will be that short. Thank you all for your support and feedback, I really appreciate it! As for this chapter, enjoy and leave me a review!**

The sand squished under Ashara's feet as she walked from the dock to the gates of Starfall. Her heart was heavy with the knowledge of Elia's dismissal. After Elia had found out she was pregnant with Ned's baby she had dismissed her immediately, ordering her to return to Starfall. She had protested heavily, but Elia hadn't budged an inch, even going to assert her authority as a princess of the realm to reinforce her position.

Ashara had left, but her anger at Elia was still burning fiercly. Elia was one of her dearest friends and she was totally oblivious to the threats that had surrounded her. She was convinced that at the end of the madness she would be able to put Aegon on the throne. She was convinced that she could treat with The Burnt Lord, at no point had she considered that The Burnt Lord was unlike any other enemy house Targaryen had faced before. He had no interest in their throne, he only had interest in paying back the debts he felt he owed House Targaryen; and if what Ned said was true he had the power to do it too.

She reached the great gates of Starfall and they were opened by a Dayne guardsman. "Lady Ashara?" He said, "What are you doing here?"

Ashara smiled at the guard. "May I enter?"

The guard, suitably chastised, moved out of her way and allowed her to enter. "Is my family here?" She asked as she walked by.

"Your eldest brother and father were called to Nightsong, along with most of the other Dornish bannermen. Your sister is here and your other brother rode in only this morning."

Ashara frowned. "My other brother? You mean Arthur?"

"Yes My Lady. He rode in alone this morning. He's resting at the moment."

"Take me to him."

"He said he wasn't to be disturbed."

Ashara turned around and glared at the man. "I'll think he'll be disturbed for me. Now take me to him."

The man nodded quickly and walked away in the direction of the palestone tower, were Arthur's old chambers were. She followed in his wake, and was soon standing outside Arthur's old chambers. The man nodded at the door. "He's in there."

Ashara nodded. "Thank you."

The man seemed to take it as a dismissal and rushed down the corridor. It seemed Arthur's reputation preceded him in everything he did. She tried the handle and found it had been locked. She knocked loudly. Something hit the door.

"I said I wasn't to be disturbed" A muffled voice called out. It sounded grumpy. "Arthur!" She called. "You better open this door right now or I'll have the guards smash it down!"

"Ashara!" The muffled voice exclaimed and then there was a lot of movement behind the door. After a few moments the door swung open to reveal her brother. His hair was dishevelled

"What are you doing here?" He asked. "Aren't you meant to be with Elia?"

Ashara laughed. "So you do remember Elia Targaryen." She stressed Elia's last name hoping to get a reaction from him and he didn't disappoint.

"What are you saying?" He snarled as his features twisted in a snarl. She smiled at him sweetly, the picture of innocence.

"Your snarl might scare soldiers Arthur, but it doesn't scare me."

This only made Arthur's scowl deepen. "You still haven't answered my question."

"Elia dismissed me." She replied simply. "Now what are you doing here? Aren't you meant to be with your prince?" She scoffed.

"Dismissed you! What did she dismiss you for?"

"I've answered your question, now it's time for you to answer one of mine."

Arthur shuffled his feet and stared at the floor. His hand drifted to his hair and he began to run his hands through his hair, a habit he had picked up from a young age Ashara knew, a habit he displayed when he was nervous.

"Arthur?" She prompted him.

He took a deep breath and licked his lips. "I've come to get a midwife."

A midwife? What would Arthur need a midwife for? Oh. Then it hit her, and it her like a punch to the stomach. She struggled to breathe as she realised the full implications of what Arthur had said. Anger settled in her stomach. She clenched her jaw. Rhaegar had gotten the girl pregnant. Rhaegar had gotten Ned's sister pregnant! She looked at Arthur who was looking at her sheepishly and suddenly she just wanted to hit him. So hit him she did. It was a hard hit too, and it left him sprawled on the floor, his cheek glowing red.

"I guess I deserved that…" He whispered.

"Deserved that!" She screamed as she kicked him. "You loved Elia Martell once! Once upon a time you were going to marry her! Now you've stood by as she was publicly spurned and now you're helping a…a…a mad man destroy what is left of their marriage!"

She looked upon his white cloak with disgust. She reached down and tried yanking it off his shoulders. "Take it off! Take it off!" She screeched, "You're not worthy to wear it!"

"Ashara!" Arthur yelled as he struggled to get off the floor while she pummelled him with slaps, kicks and punches. "Stop it!" He scrambled backwards and into the room, away from the furious Ashara who picked up a blood orange and hurled it at him. It hit his white cape with a splat, and stained it with the fruits juices. It looked chillingly like blood. She stopped and looked at him with disgust. "That's better. Show the world the blood that rests on your shoulders. Did you know the realm is now at war?!"

Arthur nodded and looked all the world like a sulking child. "It's not my fault."

"Not your fault," She scoffed. "Tell me Ser Arthur, did you try and stop him?"

"He is my prince!" Arthur said aghast. "I do as he commands!"

"And if he commanded you to kill a child?"

Arthur paused. He went to get his feet, but a flying vase convinced him to stay on the floor. He glared at her. "It's my turn to ask a question. I think I get two actually."

She nodded.

"Why did Elia dismiss you?"

She smiled at him. He smiled back. "I'm pregnant." She replied. The smile fell from his face so fast she burst out laughing.

"What!" He cried. "Ashara how could you have been so foolish? Who is the father?"

She rolled her eyes at him and lifted her arm to show him her bracelet. "Who do you think?"

He glared at her. "I'm going to kill him." He snarled. "Is it too late for moon tea?"

"Moon tea?" She exclaimed. "What is wrong with you? This is mine and Ned's child! Why would I kill it? It's the next heir of Winterfell!"

Arthur frowned at her and then something changed in his eyes. "He promised to marry you didn't her?"

She smiled at him and nodded. He looked at her with pity. "Ashara…I'm sorry…but Ned…he…they say he…" Arthur swallowed and couldn't meet her gaze.

"He what?" She demanded. Oh gods, she thought, please don't let him have died. Don't tell me he died she begged.

Arthur got to his feet and wandered over. He embraced her in a hug. "Arthur?" She asked, "What happened."

"A raven arrived a few days ago. I was given it as I entered Starfall this morning. It said…that the…riverlords declared for the Stark's."

"But Hoster Tully sent Ned a letter saying he wouldn't call his banners unless Ned married his daughter." Ashara replied.

"Exactly." Arthur said as looked down at her with pity.

If the news that Lyanna was pregnant had hit her like a punch, this news hit her like a ton of bricks.


	22. Chapter 22

Riverrun made for an imposing, yet majestic sight as it appeared on the horizon. While it may not have had the tallest towers, or thickest walls, it was a sturdy and easily defensible position, augmented by the two rivers running beside each side of the castle. The leaping trout of house Tully flew from the battlements, and guards dressed in the blue and red livery marched the walkways. Ned and Jon Arryn ride through the gates, their escort of hundred men following in their wake.

As they rode into the courtyard, they saw the entire household had been assembled. First in line was a tall, broad, strong man with blue eyes, red hair and a heavy beard that could only have been the lord of riverrun, Hoster Tully. Next to him was his eldest daughter, Brandon's betrothed, Catelyn. She was a strikingly beautiful woman, but to Ned, Ashara was still more beautiful. Nexto her as her younger sister, Lysa, and then a young boy of 10 years who could only be Hoster's youngest son, Edmure.

Ned pulled his horse to a stop in front of Lord Hoster and dismounted. With Jon Arryn by his side they stepped forward to greet him.

"Lord Stark, Lord Arryn." Lord Tully said as he extended a hand. Ned seized the man's grip and shook his hand. "Do you have bread and salt My Lord?" Ned asked. Hoster smiled at him. "Of course," He said as he dipped his head. He gestured to a nearby servant and she stepped forward holding a plate of bread and bowl of salt. Ned took the bread, sprinkled it with salt and ate it. Inwardly he sighed in relief. Now his safety was assured under the eyes of Gods.

"My family," Lord Tully was saying as he introduced them. "My eldest Lady Catelyn. She has been raised in the light of the seven and you will find no daughter more dutiful. She has the makings of a very wonderful lady."

Lady Catelyn stepped forward and curtseyed before extending a hand for Ned to kiss. He placed a gentle kiss upon it, before switching his gaze to the next in line.

"My second daughter, Lysa."

The girl glared at him with such hatred in her eyes it was slightly disconcerting. He nodded at her with a smile, but she just lifted her nose and turned away. He glanced at Lord Tully, who looked absolutely furious. He smiled at Ned tightly before gesturing to his youngest. "My son, Edmure."

Ned knelt down to the boys level and ruffled his hair. The boy smiled shyly at him and shook his hand.

"You have beautiful children Lord Tully. You must be proud." Jon was saying as he greeted Emdure.

"I am. I'll have my men escort you to your chambers. We'll meet in my solar after dinner and discuss the state of the realm."

Ned nodded and followed the soldiers who guided him to his rooms. There he found a steaming tub of water waiting and he bathed, washing the grime of the road from his hair and skin. He put on a new doublet embroidered with the running grey direwolf, before laying down to rest before the evening meal.

When he ascended to the great hall a few hours later, the feast was about to begin. He was seated next to Lady Catelyn, while Jon was seated next to Lord Hoster.

"Lady Catelyn." He greeted as he took a seat. "Lord Stark." She replied with a dip of her head.

They sat in an awkward silence for a few minutes, before Lady Catelyn spoke again.

"I offer my condolences for the death of your brother and father. They were great men, both of them."

"My father isn't dead Lady Catelyn."

Lady Catelyn frowned. "I heard he was burnt alive by Aerys."

"He was. He escaped and returned home."

Lady Catelyn smiled tightly. "I'm glad to hear it."

"No doubt." Ned replied drily, aware that her dreams of becoming Lady of Winterfell as soon as she married him had just been shattered.

The doors opened and servant's walked in bearing the first course. It was some sort of creamy fish stew, which was a bit too rich for Ned's liking.

"So Lord Stark," Lord Tully called as he ate, "I believe I didn't have the chance to offer my condolences for the loss of your family earlier. On behalf of house Tully, and indeed all the riverlands, let me offer our condolences."

With this he stood to his feet and raised his mug of ale. "To Rickard and Brandon Stark, men who were slain unjustly before their time."

Ned frowned. "My Lord," he called out, "Where did you get the news that my father was dead?"

It was Lord Hoster's turn to frown now. "Is he not dead?"

"Did you not receive his letter?"

Lord Hoster smiled. "Come now Lord Stark, it was a cunning ploy pretending your father was alive, but we all know that The Burnt Letter came from you or your allies."

Ned shook his head. "No. My father still lives. I met him at White Harbour after fleeing the Vale."

"What you have seen him with your own eyes?"

"Yes. I've hugged him with my own arms too."

"What about your brother?" A voice called out and Ned turned to see little Lysa Tully glaring at him.

"Brandon?" Ned asked. "Brandon is dead."

The Tully girl smiled sweetly then. "Good." She said before getting up and storming out of the hall.

"My Lord, I am so sorry, she has been most rebellious ever since I sent my ward home."

In his head a memory of Brandon boasting sprung up? Something about a boy who challenged him for the hand of Catelyn Tully. What was his name? Littlethumb? Smallfinger?

"Littlefinger." Edmure called out. "He was Lysa's friend. He was my friend too, but got upset at me for squiring for your brother."

Ned smiled tightly. He hadn't even been here a day and already the Tully's were grating on his nerves. Jon must have sensed his discomfort because he changed the subject.

"Have you squired for anyone else?" Jon asked Edmure. The boy smiled and begin to talk of his squiring for different knights and Ned ate the rest of his dinner in silence.

Eventually the feast waned to an end and Ned and Jon followed Hoster to his solar. It had a window that overlooked the Red Fork, and the sound of rushing waters filled the air.

Hoster took a seat behind his carved mahogany desk and gestured for the two of them to sit across from him. Ned took a seat and reached for the goblet of wine that had been placed in front of him. Hopefully he wouldn't need too much of this tonight.


	23. Chapter 23

"So," Hoster Tully said as he sipped his wine, "are you happy with the wedding occurring tomorrow? As its war, it'll be best to affirm this alliance as quickly as possible."

Ned winced. It seemed Hoster believed the marriage still stood. This was not good. "Actually Lord Tully, a marriage will not be happening."

Lord Hoster frowned. "You want it after the war?" He shook his head. "That will not do. If you die in battle then my daughter won't be lady of Winterfell."

Ned knew the marriage wasn't for love, but the callousness of what the man had just said chilled Ned to the bone. Thankfully Jon Arryn interceded on Ned's behalf.

"I think what Ned meant to say Lord Hoster," He said, "Is that he will not marry your daughter."

Hoster scowled deeply and got to his feet. "Now listen here you upstart wolf pup! Me and your father had a deal. I've honoured my end of the deal, you honour yours. You'll marry my daughter and that's the end of it. She has been raised from birth to be the Lady of Winterfell and you will find no better match in all the seven kingdoms. Plus, her dowry includes a respectable number of troops and the support of the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands, something I thought you were in need of with your father and brother's deaths!"

Ned scowled back at him. "For the last time my father is not dead! And didn't you tell me in the courtyard that your daughter was raised in the light of the seven?"

"Yes." Hoster spat. "So what?"

"Well then clearly she wasn't raised to be Lady of Winterfell." Ned replied.

Hoster's face turned as red as his hair and he looked ready to burst.

"Come now Hoster. Take a seat, let's all calm down. This conversation is not going well. Ned explain why you can't marry Catelyn." Jon said in a soothing tone

Hoster glared at Ned with Jon's words. "And why can't you marry my daughter? We all know you're not betrothed."

Ned shook his head. "I am betrothed Lord Tully." He raised his arm to reveal the pale white bracelet encircling his wrist. "I am betrothed before my gods."

Lord Hoster looked upon him in disgust. "I don't care about your god's boy. It's a simple equation. Marry my daughter or I fight for Aerys."

"Now Lord Hoster don't be hasty." Jon was saying, trying to calm both men down.

Hoster glanced at Jon and suddenly nodded. "You're right. I was too hasty. But boy you will marry my daughter."

Ned went to protest but Hoster held up a hand, demanding silence.

"I assume you know of your brother's reputation?" Hoster asked.

Ned glared at him. "My dead brother's reputation? Be very careful with your next words Lord Tully if you value your life."

Hoster waved his hand dismissively. "I don't mean it as an insult boy, but rather an assessment of reality."

"Yes. I know of my brother's reputation." Ned replied through gritted teeth.

"Well while he was here, before the gallant fool managed to run off and get himself killed he managed to impregnate my daughter, but not before marrying her."

Ned frowned. "But that means that your daughter is already the Lady of Winterfell."

Hoster nodded. "There is only one problem. All of Brandon's witnesses were killed at King's Landing."

Ned nodded understanding now. His heart was sinking in his chest.

"It's simple Ned. Marry the girl, and become Lord of Winterfell, Brandon's son will become the Lord after you."

Ned frowned. Something did not add up here.

"Did Brandon marry before a godswood?" Ned asked.

"Yes."

Ned smiled coldly at Lord Tully. He picked up his wine glass and began to swirl the dark red liquid inside around. "Tell me Lord Tully, did you know that Brandon loved a woman back in the North?"

Lord Hoster shrugged. "I don't really care."

"Well on the day he was told he was to marry your daughter he ran away to marry his love. My father ran after him of course and brought him back, but that night as we ate, he made clear his terms for marrying your daughter. His first, and most important term, was that he would marry her in the light of the seven."

Hoster frowned at him. "He changed his mind obviously."

Ned smiled and out the glass back down. "Do you know why he wanted to marry your daughter in the light of the seven?"

"No."

"It was because once my father had deposed Aerys and broken from the south, he intended to marry his love before a godswood. No doubt blood…" Ned knocked the wine glass over and it spilled over the desk, "…would have been spilled, but it would not have mattered in the end. Your daughter would still be left without a home and most likely with a child Brandon didn't want."

"What are you saying?" Lord Tully snarled.

"Why, you are lying of course. Brandon never married your daughter. Did he sleep with her? Yes. Did he marry her? No."

"So fix the stain your brother left on my daughter's honour!"

"And destroy my own honour in the process?" Ned scoffed. "Why would I do that? To break a betrothal before the gods is to bring ruin and shame upon my house."

The men sat in silence for a while contemplating what had just been said. Hoster Tully glared at Ned.

"Screw your gods and screw your honour!" Hoster Tully suddenly yelled. "Guards!"

Immediately the door burst open and four guards rushed in.

"Seize these men and throw them in the dungeons!" Hoster snarled as he pointed at Jon and Ned.

Later that night, as Jon and Ned sat in the cells beneath Riverrun Ned turned to Jon.

"Jon," He asked. "Did I do the right thing?"

Jon sighed. "If you just married the girl it would be so much easier."

"I know. But a woman has been dishonoured. I can't just let her go."

"No one expects you too."

They sat in silence for a minute.

Ned laughed suddenly. "Even in death Brandon is getting me in trouble!" Ned mused. "Life is strange."

Jon nodded. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know."

"Well tomorrow Lord Tully wants an answer. He sends a raven tomorrow night he said."

Ned sighed. Why did the gods have to instil a sense of duty within him? Why couldn't he be more like Brandon? He sighed, knowing what he must do now.

"Guard!" He called. After a moment a guard appeared at the narrow slit that served as a window.

"What?" he spat out.

"Call Lord Tully. Tell him I have made my decision."


	24. Chapter 24

**Sorry this one is on the shorter side, but I needed to have break up this part and the next one, though I promise the next one will be longer.**

The cell door opened and Brynden Tully walked in holding a flask of wine. He looked at Ned who was curled into the corner, still hurting form where Hoster had hit him. The swelling covered half of his face and throbbed painfully. He hadn't been amused when Ned had told him he was not going to marry his daughter a second time, accusing him of wasting his time. That had been an hour ago.

"Hello." Jon said as he struggled to his feet. "What brings you here?"

Jon's presence was perhaps Ned's greatest regret. He had never meant for Jon to get caught up and hurt in his father's games, but his father had insisted on his presence. He had said something about learning of the Burnt Lord's bite second hand.

Brynden Tully turned to Ned and sat down across from him. "You really love her don't you?" He asked.

There was no need to ask who he was talking about. He closed his eyes and saw her face in his mind's eye. Raven black hair, a heart shaped face and hauntingly beautiful purple eyes that danced with laughter.

"Aye." Ned replied as he looked at the man they called the Blackfish. "It's because I love her that I refuse to marry another."

Brynden nodded and Ned thought he saw a spark of bitterness in the man's eyes. He took a swig from the wine flask before offering it to Ned. Ned took it gratefully and swallowed a large gulp before passing it to Jon.

"Were you ever told how I got the name Blackfish?"

Ned shook his head. Brynden grinned as he took the wine from Jon.

"My brother wanted me to marry a Redwyne girl. I refused and wouldn't marry her, so in a moment of rage he labelled me as the 'black goat of the Tully flock'. I laughed and told him I was a Tully and that I was a black fish, not a black goat. He very kindly suggested to me to use it as my sigil, so I did. Ever since I have been known as the Blackfish."

Ned looked at Brynden sceptically. "Does you story have a point?" He asked.

"It does actually. You see, once I was in the exact same position as you. Lord Tully was trying to force me into a marriage that I didn't want to be in."

"You told him no and refused to marry the girl he wanted you too. That doesn't exactly help your argument here."

"But it does." Brynden replied. "You see," He sighed, "My brother has always been an ambitious man. Ambitious, but he is also honourable and good."

"Honourable and good?" Ned scoffed. "he broke guest right!"

Brynden winced. "He did," He conceded. "But beneath that ambition he is good. I promise to do all I can to convince him to side with you. Even if I have to sneak you out of here myself, I promise to do all I can to let you marry the girl you love."

Ned looked at Brynden mournfully. "I'm sorry Ser Brynden but it's too late." He sighed.

"Too late?" Brynden asked, "What do you mean?"

Ned sighed again. "It doesn't matter now. There is nothing you or I can do to stop what is too come."

Brynden looked at him in confusion. "Stop? Stop what?"

The sounds of a scuffle outside the door filled the cell and everyone's eyes snapped to the door. It opened to reveal a grinning giant and a leech lord. "Stop us of course!" Greatjon Umber called out as he and Roose Bolton stepped into the cell, his giant Iron greatsword glittering in the dull light.


	25. Chapter 25

Hoster Tully opened his eyes to hear shouting and yelling going on in the courtyard. He sat up hurriedly and turned throw on his boots when he first noticed the figure in the corner. His face was shrouded in shadows, but he could see his gauntlet covered hands; hands which held a Valyrian steel greatsword.

"Ah," The figure said, "You're awake."

"Who are you?" Hoster said as he scrambled back in his bed. The man shrugged.

"Only a dead man." He stirred and pulled a whetstone from his lap. He began to run it down his Valyrian steel sword. The yells of the men outside were drowned out by the scrape of the stone against the steel edge. "We've never met but we have talked extensively on a variety of matters."

"We have?" Hoster asked dubiously.

"Yes." The man replied.

"What's your name?" Hoster asked as he glanced at the bedside table where he kept a dagger stashed.

"The dagger's gone." The man said as he noticed Hoster's gaze. "As is the sword in your closet, the crossbow in the chest at the end of your bed, the ceremonial axes hanging on the wall and the guards outside your door are currently…incapacitated. Don't try anything Lord Tully or you will find it will not go down well."

Hoster swallowed thickly. This man was good. If he couldn't fight his way out than he would have to talk his way out. Hopefully he could stall long enough for his other guards to get here wherever they were.

"What do you want?" he asked suspiciously. He saw the man's shrouded figure shrug. "Just vengeance."

"Vengeance?" Hoster asked, "Vengeance for whom?"

"Vengeance for the fallen. Vengeance for the slain. Vengeance for the burnt…" The man's voice dropped an octave. "Vengeance for my son."

Suddenly Hoster knew who this was. "No…" Hoster murmured as he glanced at the man in shock.

The man removed a hand from the sword and threw forward a scrap of paper. It floated through the air to land in front of him. He picked it up and recognised it as the letter that Lord Rickard had supposedly sent out after his burning. The one the nobles called the burnt letter.

"I sent a letter Lord Tully. I warned you all; there shall be no mercy for those that get in my way."

The man stood up and stepped into the light to reveal a horribly burnt face. "When I first saw my son and his betrothed I promised him that if you stood in the way of his marriage I would show you that this Burnt Lord still has bite. You've stood in the way of a marriage before the Old Gods and broken guest right. If you lived in the North I would have your head."

It took a moment for The Burnt Lord's words to sink in.

"So you won't kill me?" Hoster asked his heart in his mouth. The Burnt Lord didn't respond he merely wandered over to the window that looked down upon Riverrun's courtyard.

"Why would I do that?" The Burnt Lord said with a querying look. "You can still help me."

"What makes you think I would ever help you? Especially after this?"

"Come here." He said as he gestured with one gauntlet clad hand. Hoster stood and wandered over to the window. He looked down into the courtyard and what he saw made his heart catch in his mouth.

His beautiful children were standing there, surrounded by soldiers flying the banners of house Stark. Catelyn stood proud, unflinching even in the face of death. She cradled a crying Edmure in one arm, and a sobbing Lysa in the other.

"Here is what is going to happen Lord Tully." The Burnt Lord said as he hefted his sword onto his shoulder, "You're going to call your banners. You're going to convince them too fight for the rebels. You'll march your troops beside ours in any battle and you'll help me throw Aerys from the throne."

"Why would I do that?"

The Burnt Lord smiled and it chilled Lord Tully to the bone.

"First I will kill the second girl. What's her name? Lysa? Then the boy, then your brother and then finally once your other daughter has given birth to Brandon's…bastard…I will kill her. I will take Brandon's son and raise him as a Stark through and through. Then I will legitimise him, give him a new name, maybe Mudd, and raise him to Lord of Riverrun."

Hoster's mind went into overdrive as he thought through this set of actions. He didn't believe him. Above all Starks were known to be honourable, indeed his gallant fool of a son had rushed to his death to defend his sister's honour. No, The Burnt Lord was bluffing.

"Your Bluffing" Hoster said as he turned away from the window.

The Burnt Lord shrugged as though he didn't care either way. He grabbed him by the arms and began to drag him out of the room. The Burnt Lord dragged him into the corridors and down into the Riverrun's courtyard. His children saw him immediately, as well as the grim spectre that strode beside him.

Lysa shrieked upon seeing him and burst into a fresh round of sobs. "Father!" She shrieked.

"Hold him." The Burnt Lord snarled at two of his soldiers as he shoved Hoster into their arms.

He strode over to Hoster's children and snatched the sobbing Lysa from Catelyn's arms. "Bring me a block!" He roared and the soldiers rushed to do his bidding. Lysa began to struggle and scream as she realised what The Burnt Lord was about to do.

The soldiers pulled a block from somewhere, a great, hulking, black piece of ironwood, though where from Hoster had no clue. He began to struggle in the soldiers grasp. "Stop!" He called "You're scaring her!"

The Burnt Lord frowned at him as the block was placed in front of him. "Scaring her?" he snarled, "I'm killing her!"

He shoved Lysa's head down onto the block and ordered his soldiers to hold it there. In the background a door slammed but The Burnt Lord didn't even flinch.

"Stop! Stop!" Hoster cried, "I'll call my banners! I'll work with you! Stop!"

"Do you have any last words you wish for us to convey?" The Burnt Lord asked Lysa as she struggled on the block. Lysa screamed wordlessly in response.

"In the name of the Old Gods, the first and last of all the gods, the gods of the first men and the ones who have been and shall always be, I, Rickard of House Stark sentence you to die."

With that he hefted his great Valyrian steel sword and swung it down. Hoster watched in horror as the sword swung over his daughter's head right in front of him.

Then, just before it could separate Lysa's head from her body, a dark blue smashed into the Burnt Lord and sent him and his sword flying away. Hoster watched in amazement as Eddard Stark untangled himself from his father's limbs and struggled to his feet panting heavily.

"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!" He screamed at The Burnt Lord.

The Burnt Lord pulled himself off the floor before wandering over and picking up his sword. He threw a dark glare at his son before storming off into the bowels of the castle.

"Release him at once!" Eddard Stark said as he pointed at Hoster Tully, "and for god's sake someone send his children back to their rooms!"

Eddard Stark lifted Lysa off the block himself and muttered soothing words before placing her in Catelyn's graps. He murmed something to Hoster's three children and they nodded and went on their way, albeit shadowed by six Stark guards. Eddard Stark turned to him then and made his way over.

"Count yourself very lucky Lord Tully," Eddard growled. "If I had of been even one second later you would be mourning a daughter right now."

Then the young man sighed and seemed to collapse in on himself. For the first time since seeing him, Hoster was struck by how young the man was. He was barely older than Catelyn and had borne more grief in his short time than most men did in their entire lives.

"Why couldn't you have just worked with us?" He asked as he rubbed his brow. "Lock him in his chambers!" Eddard Stark said as he turned away, "And get his brother from the cells!"

Hoster was dragged away by some more Stark soldiers, and suddenly noticed how many there were. How did he get so many men into here and so quickly as well as quietly? Common sense told him that it was impossible but that was not the story his eyes were singing.

Hours later, the door clicked open and Eddard Stark stepped into his chambers. He glanced at the young man before switching his gaze to the window again. Eddard Stark crossed the room and sat down in the chair across from him. He took a goblet from the table and filled it with wine before taking a long sip and sighing appreciatively.

"I've managed to talk him down for now." He said.

Hoster switched his gaze back to the young lord. "He was really going to kill her."

"He was."

"Why?"

Eddard sighed. "Ever since he returned from King's Landing he's been…different. More blood thirsty, more consumed, more…driven. You stood in his way and he saw an outlet for his anger. So he took it."

"I'm sorry."

"It's a bit late for that now."

"I know."

The two men sat in comfortable silence for a minute before Eddard Stark stirred again.

"There are conditions to continued peace."

"What are they?" Hoster asked, half fearing the terms.

"Your children will be sent to Winterfell until the war is over, officially for safety and fostering, actually as hostages to ensure your continued good behaviour."

"But Catelyn's pregnant! Travel could damage her health."

"I know. And I'm sorry but he insisted. In truth he wants to execute you all and install your brother as lord until Brandon's son comes of age. The terms I have now are the best I can offer you."

"Are there any other terms?"

"Yes. You will call your banners and fight beside us. You will fight beside us because your children's lives will depend upon it."

"I can do that."

Eddard sighed heavily now. "The final term is that…you will be castrated."

"Castrated!?"

"Yes."

"Whatever for?!"

"So that you don't just remarry and have another child."

"NO!" Hoster cried. To hold his children hostage was one thing, but to castrate him was another thing entirely. It was barbaric, cruel and downright insulting.

"The alternative Lord Tully is the heads of all your children and a marauding Northern army swamping through your lands."

"No! I am a man of honour!" Hoster cried in protest.

Eddard Stark's stance shifted and he glared at Hoster coldly. "Do I need remind you that you broke guest right?"

Eddard Stark stood to his feet. "You have till tomorrow to accept the terms. If you haven't accepted by then I will let my father go by his original plan," He strode away but paused at the door. "Believe me that is something none of us want to see."


	26. Chapter 26

This is the last short chapter. I promise. From here on out I promise every chapter will be 1000 words+.

Robert rushed through the darkened streets and into the building that was shrouded in shadows. He glanced at the hill overlooking the town and his heart plummeted in his chest. The hill was crawling with soldiers, and even in the dim light of the setting sun, the three headed dragon of house Targaryen flew from their rippling banners.

He turned to the man next to him, a loyal knight who had been with him since he had left Storm's End. "Go!" He said as he clasped him in a bear hug. "Get Ned. Tell him where we are. We'll hide until he arrives!"

The knight looked at him in regret before nodding once and turning away, rushing down to the street to mount his horse and ride away. Robert wondered if he'd ever see him again. He shook his head and gestured for his men to follow. The men he had left Storm's End with were all gone, apart from these last loyal few.

He had sent the remains of his army North East and fled North West himself in the hope that Connington would pursue him rather than his army. Thankfully, the fool had played into his hands and pursued him, allowing his army to link up with Ned and Jon's. Now all he had to do was wait here until Ned could send a force to relieve him.

"Psst!" A voice said and Robert looked up to see a topless woman peering down at him. He burst into a grin. "Well aren't you a pretty one!" Robert whispered back.

The lady blushed, before gesturing for him to come in.

Maybe he could hide here for a while. It would certainly be better than hiding in a field as he was originally going to do.


	27. Chapter 27

Rickard watched from the shadows as the great hall of Riverrun slowly filled with the ilk they called the Riverlords.

The worst of them was approaching him now, Lord Walder Frey.

"Lord Stark!" Lord Frey called as he hobbled over, a lecherous grin plastered over his weasel-like face. "I heard you received quite the warm reception from old King Aerys aye?" The old man cackled at his own joke, while Rickard snarled silently. "That's alright though," The old man continued "you have another don't you? Not as many as me mind you, but then nobody does these days! Heh!"

Rickard walked away before he punched the obnoxious man going to speak to with Tytos Blackwood, a man he considered a personal friend.

"Lord Stark," Lord Blackwood greeted solemnly as he approached him. "Let me offer my condolences for your loss Lord Stark."

Rickard nodded gratefully. Tytos glanced around at the other lords before leaning in close.

"What happened with Lord Tully?" He whispered.

Rickard glared at the mentioned lord who was occupying himself at the front of the hall with his son, preparing for the coming meeting with the lords of the Riverland's. He had personally told Lord Tully that his children's usefulness fully depended on the outcome of this meeting. As such, the man was putting all his effort into ensuring the lords supported the right side.

"He imprisoned my son and broke guest right" Rickard replied simply.

Tytos whistled lowly. "So the rumours were true."

"Rumours?" Lord Stark asked.

"A rumour had been running around that Tully angered you so you took his castle in a midnight storm. The fact that all of his children were begin escorted north certainly helped the argument."

"Keep it on the quiet Tytos. He is only cooperating because we have his children."

Tytos bowed his head, "of course" He said as he took a sip of his wine.

Up the front, the now cockless wonder had managed to get himself organised and had called the meeting to order. He was blathering on about things that Rickard had no care for, so he left Lord Tytos and resumed his post in the shadows by the corner.

Up the front his son sat uncomfortably, clearly unused to the attention of so many lords. How he had managed to charm the Dayne girl Rickard would never know, but maybe he had more of his brother in him than he had originally thought.

Truth be told he was very proud of his second son, and though he doubted Ned would be able to do it, if he could get past his blasted honour he could easily be feared by his enemies as a deadly opponent in whatever game these southerners wanted to play. As his father had said to him upon meeting Brandon and Ned, a wild wolf is dangerous but a quiet wolf is deadly.

Thinking of Brandon soured Rickard's attitude very quickly. Mournfully, he thought of the eldest son he had lost, his firstborn, the heir of a line that was 8000 years old. The room was filled with laughter suddenly in response to something someone had said, but Rickard found himself back in the throne room, the laughter of the spectators echoing around him.

His son knelt next to him, bloodied and bruised but…alive. As if on cue, his son's handsome face melted into the snarling head of a wolf, and he was in his arms looking up at the wolf. Behind the wolf's head, green fire burned, yet the echoes of laughter still surrounded him.

Laughter consumed his ears, a harsh cackling filling the air around him. Faces swum in front of him, all those who he had laid eyes on that day. He screwed his eyes shut in an attempt to dispel the demons of his past, but they merely appeared in his mind's eye.

He needed to get out. Where was he?

He was lost. Lost within his own mind. He tried to walk forward but it was like walking underwater. His limbs weren't responding, and his brain couldn't seem to connect to the rest of his body.

His heart thundered in his chest and the painful bite of wildfire raced up his marred skin. He needed to get out of here, wherever here was.

Out of the darkness that had consumed his vision a black raven sprung forth screaming. It had a third eye in the middle of its forehead.

"The Burnt Lord!" It cackled. "Lord Stark!" It cackled "Rickard!" It cackled. "Father!" It cackled.

Rickard felt a weight on his arm and was suddenly back in the great hall of Riverrun, surrounded by the nobility of the Riverland's. A hand rested on his arm and he looked up into the concerned face of his son.

"Are you alright father?" His son asked.

Rickard struggled to his feet. Somehow he had fallen over in the confusion. Wordlessly he stormed out of the hall, ignoring the looks the southerners were giving him. He made it outside to the fresh air and noticed the godswood in the distance. He barely managed to make it before letting out the guttural scream that was consuming him from the inside out.

Make them pay.

The words came as a whisper upon the wind and it took Rickard back to a dimly lit cave, far beneath the convoluted rush of King's Landing, to the dying words of his son.

Tears streamed down Rickard's face as he looked up at the stars. The tears trickled down his broken, marred cheeks, dripping off and falling onto his grotesque hands. Footsteps echoed behind him and he turned to observe Ned standing there a bit apprehensively.

He didn't say a word, instead just came to stand beside him and observe the stars with him.

Up there, somewhere, Brandon drifted, watching over them. One day Rickard would be able to look down and think of Aerys…Aerys and the hellfire he would reside in.


	28. Chapter 28

The Knight had arrived a week ago, and bore news of the gravest countenance. Robert Baratheon was wounded and currently hiding in the town of Stoney Sept. Worse, he was being pursued by Jon Connington, the new hand of the king, and a Royalist army. Ned and his father had left at once, taking 35,000 northerners and 15,0000 Riverlords, along with the gathered remnants of Robert's host, some 3500 men. In total it was over 50,000 men who were currently descending on the small town where Connington's host was camped. The northern cavalry had already engaged a probing force that Connington had sent out to test their mettle.

Within the town, Ned could see Connington order his troops into defensive formations. Archers were taking the rooves and pikemen were lining the streets. Other men were frantically searching the houses, looking for Robert and his remaining retinue.

What Connington didn't realise however was that the town had already fallen and Robert had already been whisked away.

1000 men of Ned's host were underneath the town, preparing to storm out and open the gates. He looked over to where his father was finalising the battle plans with Jon Arryn and Brynden Tully.

Hoster had been left back in Riverrun, under the 'care' of some of his father's most loyal soldiers.

His father donned a steel helm, and Rickard was gone, in his place the brutal burnt lord. He mounted his horse and rode over to where Ned and Denys Arryn were waiting. Once again Ned would be leading the vanguard into the town, and where ironically the fighting would be thickest.

"Are you ready?" The Burnt Lord asked. Ned nodded, not trusting himself to speak. In the town below the bells had begun to ring, tolling out across the land. As if they had summoned him, Robert Baratheon appeared next to him, wielding a war hammer, and wearing his antlered helm.

Ned turned to Robert. "You don't mean to fight do you?"

Robert shrugged. "Why not?"

"I thought your arm was injured."

"It is. Don't stop me from swinging my hammer though."

Ned grunted in reply. If Robert wanted to be stupid, let him. He could hold his own in a fight.

"Is Connington still there?" Robert asked.

"Yea." Ned replied as he handed him the spyglass. "Check the square. Near the fountain."

Robert lifted the device to his eye and grunted once he had found him. "He's mine." He said as he passed back the spyglass.

"You're welcome to him." Denys said with a shaky grin.

"Good." Robert replied. "What's the plan?"

"We will lead the foot soldiers into the town, while our troops already in the town will open the northern gate, and subdue the archers on the walls. Once we've got the walls it's a push to the town square, where Connington and his commanders are. My father and Jon Arryn will remain outside with the cavalry to ensure the army can't retreat."

"Tis a good plan." Robert said.

"Thank you." The Burnt Lord said as he watched the last of their troops get into position. "It looks like it's time."

With this The Burnt Lord spurred his horse away to join his cavalry that was continuing to circle the town. Ned turned to the Greatjon and nodded. The Greatjon raised a great big horn to his lips and blew hard. It echoed across the hills and into the town, and all around his soldiers began to march forward.

The pikemen were at the front, followed by a group of archers. Running in front of the column of men, and soaring overhead were the various animals of the north's warg legion. He saw many wolves and a few bears. The most unique creature to grace the field of battle though was easily the war wolves.

The War Wolves were specially bred wolves that were almost twice the size of a normal wolf, and twice as savage as well. While not as big, or strong as the fabled direwolves that now only existed beyond the wall and on the stark's banners, they were still formidable and horrifying beasts to fight.

On the walls, Ned's troops within had begun their assault and the northern gate was slowly opening. The fighting on the walls could be clearly seen and Ned urged his horse into a gallop in order to assist his men as soon as possible. Robert was on his right and Denys on his left, along with the other leading commanders. The gates were now open and revealed the savage fighting that was going on within. It was a bloodbath and already Ned could see the cobblestones were slick with spilled blood.

Ned's small group of horsemen smashed into Connington's shield wall and broke it open. The soldiers within the town took advantage of the opportunity and used it to further widen the gap. Ned wrenched his sword from it's sheath and swung down at the soldiers surrounding him. He hacked a path through the remaining shields and gave his pikemen time to enter the town. They crashed into the line with Pikes down and began a brutal affair of pushing into the centre of the town.

Ned felt his horse slacken beneath him, and sprung from it just as it collapsed to the floor, a spear sticking through it's chest. Ned looked at the man who had committed the act, one who was now weapon less. The man tried to yank his spear out of the horse, to no avail, before turning and running.

The street's were getting so tight, it was becoming hard for Ned to swing his sword. A few meters away, he heard the roar of Robert as he laid into another group of men. Suddenly the Targaryen line broke, and began an orgainsed retreat away from the deathtrap that was the northern gate.

Arrows began to fall around him and Ned looked to the rooftops to see archers in the Targaryen livery shooting down upon them.

"Greatjon!" Ned called. "Gather some men and clear the rooves."

The giant nodded grimly before rushing off. The northerners were now crouched bhind their shields attempting to protect themselves from the arrows that were raining down upon them. The arrows stopped very quickly though when the Greatjon and his soldiers stormed the rooftops.

With the orgniased retreat of the foot soldiers, and the Greatjon's subjugation of the nearby archers, there was a brief lull in the fighting. Ned took the opportunity to reassess the situation. His troops were still pouring through the north gate, and there seemed to be some sort of resistance in the left gatehouse. Further into the town, Ned could see that the Targaryen lines had reformed and were preparing to attempt to push out.

The yelling from the eastern gate could only mean that that gate had fallen as well. He nodded to Robert and Denys, who joined him in his observation of the Targaryen line.

"Reform!" Robert bellowed as he swung his hammer above his head. "Reform! Pikeman at the front, archers at the back!"

The northern soldiers quickly reformed their lines and began to march down the narrow streets, pikes extended in front of them in order to keep the Targaryen soldiers at bay. Eddard took his place in the front of the line, his shield hefted to his shoulder and a discarded spear grasped in his hand.

"Forward March!" He called as his host began to grind towards the Targaryen lines. The press of bodies around him was suffocating but Ned ignored it all as the lines met with a crash.

A spear sliced through Ned's cheek, causing warm blood to run down his face. He pushed hard with his shield, and behind him his soldiers began to push forward, crushing the first line between themselves and the Targaryen shield wall.

A howl cut through the air, and then a dark black blur smashed into the men in front of Ned. The men collapsed under the blur and Ned and his men seized the opportunity. They fought their way into the narrow gap and began to widen it.

A force smashed Ned on the helm and he slipped on the blood soaked cobblestones. He went down beneath the crush of men and lost his grip on his spear. He scrambled back to his feet, drawing his sword to be confronted with a darting spearhead. He evaded it, and blocked it with his shield when suddenly the spear wielder was torn backwards screaming.

A black War Wolf, its muzzle coated in blood, and a crazed look in its eyes, shook the man's body in its jaws. The man's leg detached from his torso with a sickening crunch. The man's body disappeared into the mass of men and the War Wolf followed after it, not finished with its new found toy. Ned shivered as he watched the beast, glad he wasn't the one facing it's terrifying presence.

Ned found himself facing another men and soon his body was in autopilot. He slipped into a pattern of block, thrust, kill. Men fell beneath his blade like water. Next to him Robert was a maelstrom of death, killing all who were unfortunate enough to wander within range of the swings of his hammer. The northern line was successfully pushing the soldiers back to the town square, where Connington and his main host were situated.

In a similar situation to the fight at the north gate, the Targaryen line broke very quickly and the Ned was given another breathing period. Thankfully by this stage, the northerners had managed to gain the rooftops and as such the foot soldiers in the streets below were safe from the Targaryen archers.

There was one more street to go before they reached the square were Connington was situated. Ahead of them, the Targaryen line was being rapidly reformed. Ned could see Connington himself now. He was standing on the steps of the sept that the town was named for, yelling orders to his men and coordinating his remaining troops.

Robert and Denys came up on Ned as he watched him. Denys handed him a waterskin and Ned drank from it grategfully before spilling the rest upon his head.

In the square Connington's eyes alighted on them. For a long, strange moment both men just watched each other. Ned nodded politely before placing on his helm and stepping back into the mass of men that was the northern line.

Connington immediately begun yelling for his men to reform on the streets to the northern gate. Ned sighed. It would have been a sound plan had he held the rooftops. As it was though, northern archers beginning raining a storm of steel upon the Targaryen line. The line, forced to engage or risk losing more men, begun to push forward.

The arrows continued to rain down however, and before the line had even reached his, they were faltering.

Two War Wolves appeared on the rooftops and dropped down into the Targaryen line, cauding widespread chaos as the men tried to kill the beasts of war that haunted them.

The line had broken. Now was the time.

"Forward march!" Ned cried as he drew his sword and pointed it forward. "For Brandon!"

"FOR BRANDON!" His host yelled as they charged forward to engage the remnants of the once mighty Targaryen host.

The blow of a horn split the air and suddenly the soldiers were in full retreat. Ned's own line broke as his soldiers picked up their pace to pursue them. They manged to enter the square and the fight degenerated into one on one fights between individual men.

In the chaos he had lost sight of Denys and Robert. He was brought back to the present with the sight of a sword swinging towards him. He hefted his sword and blocked his foes attack before responding with a swing of his own. He struck true and bit deep into the man's neck.

The man's helm fell off, and with a start Ned realised that it was no man he had been facing but a boy. He looked on in horror as the light left the boys eyes. He was struck still for a moment when a cry of pain interrupted his thoughts.

He looked for the source to see Denys scrambling backwards away from an advancing Jon Connington, who was sweeping his sword in wide sweeping arcs. Denys tripped on the edge of the fountain and fell back into the water.

Ned scrambled forward, weaving his way through the mass of men to reach his friend. He spear tackled Connington into the fountain, disrupting his swing so that it only bit into Denys's shoulder, rather than his neck. Connington scrambled backwards away from Ned.

"Traitor!" He screamed as he pulled a dagger from his belt. "Die monster!"

He threw himself at Ned only to be knocked away by a gauntlet clad fist. He looked up into the grim eyes of Robert Baratheon. He had lost his hammer and helm back in the streets, and blood coursed from a cut on the side of his head. He held his fists up in a boxer's stance and spat at Connington.

The Griffin Lord took one look before turning to flee. Robert went after him, and Ned helped Denys out of the fountain and onto the steps of the sept. Around him the fight was pretty much over, the last Targaryen soldiers were throwing down their arms and falling to their knees.

Over all the chaos, the sound of bells continuously tolled, alerting all to the state of war within the town below.


	29. Chapter 29

Davos sat hunched over his ale in the shady pub in the bottom of Flea Bottom. He had just finished a rather treacherous voyage through the stepstones that had a big payday, so for Davos this was the equivalent of a grand party.

The last trip had been one of the most dangerous he had ever been on, though not the most dangerous. No that title was reserved for a job that he did in the north. He still shuddered to think of those rushing waters and that gaping stone maw. The fact that he had survived…and gotten away with it was reward enough. After that job he hadn't returned to the Northern smuggling routes, never going past the three sisters.

In his youth Davos had been a far more adventurous man. He had many run in's with the northern authorities, indeed he was one of the few who could claim he was so well…respected…that even the heir of saltsmaw, Beron Saltstark, knew of him. He had even run into him on more than one occasion.

Davos had a family that he had to think of now though. A beautiful wife who loved him and sons who he adored with all his heart. He couldn't take these risks anymore. Which is why the thoughts of relieving the garrison of Storm's End seemed so foreign in Davos's mind. Yet in his heart of hearts Davos knew why he was thinking of this. He had seen on the sea's what famine did to a man. No one deserved to die like that.

His decision made he drained the last of his ale and slammed his mug down on the bench. He stood up and made to leave when the door of the pub opened and in strode a man that Davos knew. He ducked his head and went to quickly brush past, hoping the man did not notice him, but it was all to no avail.

A hand gripped his arm and dragged him back into the pub and down to one of the back tables that was shrouded in shadow. He shoved him roughly into the seat before sitting down opposite him. The man raised his arm to the barkeeper and called for two ales before turning back to Davos.

"I haven't been in your waters for the last two years." Davos rushed out, "So whatever you think I did I didn't do it."

The man's steely grey eyes met Davos's coldly before filling with mirth. He laughed lowly at the smuggler.

"How long did you think you could run Davos?"

"I did nothing wrong." Davos stubbornly insisted.

"Really?" The man asked. "Didn't refuse to pay your way like the rest of the captains that use the river under my control."

Davos paused. He could have sworn no one had seen him that night. He had even used the black sails.

As if the man was reading his thoughts he spoke. "Black sails don't make you invisible Davos. Hard to see, yes, invisible, no."

Davos scowled at having been caught. The man laughed lowly.

"Do you know why we let you go Davos?"

"No." Davos snapped. "What do you want Beron? If you're here to kill me just get on with it already would you!"

Beron Saltstark, heir of the saltsmaw just laughed at him. "I'll admit since that night, I have nothing but respect and admiration for you Davos. Do you know not even I can get through that bloody river. Come now, tell me how you did it."

Davos shook his head. "A good smuggler never reveals his trade routes."

Beron laughed. "Fair point Davos, fair point. I have missed you up north. Some of my fondest memories are chasing you around the bite."

Davos scoffed. "Some of my worst memories are you chasing me around the bite."

Beron let loose another laugh.

"What are you doing here anyway?" Davos asked as he accepted an ale from the innkeeper. "I don't know if you noticed but the local authorities aren't that amenable to your type at the moment."

"I've come with an offer."

"An offer?" Davos asked surprised.

"Yea. We need some…goods moved."

"What do I get?"

"A few things. First, you'll be pardoned for fare skipping the wolf's maw."

Davos grunted. "Not good enough."

Beron smiled. "I'm not done yet Davos. You'll also be given an opportunity to distinguish yourself. If you do well there may be a knighthood available, perhaps a small keep…an opportunity for your sons to be squires for high lords."

Davos nodded. "That sounds alright."

Beron grinned at him. "So you in?"

"Depends. What am I doing?"

"Ever heard of Storm's End?"

Davos nodded noncommittally. "May have. Last I heard though Paxter Redwyne was sinking every ship that came close."

Beron nodded and his easy going grin faltered for just a moment. "We plan to change that."

"How?"

"Redwyne has 200 ships blockading Storm's End. I currently have 100 at my disposal. Storm's End needs relieving. You'll be taking a ship filled with food and soldiers and drop them off within Storm's End. Then you'll have to get out of there quick smart because you'll be doing that every night until the garrison is refreshed and the larders filled."

"No offence Beron but the math ain't on your side with that one. He has twice the ships you have. How do you expect to be able to beat him?"

"I don't. I just plan to give you the window to get the supplies in and out."

Davos stewed over it for a while. To his amusement he noticed Beron shift uncomfortably. In all his time knowing the young admiral he had never seen him like this.

"Is that all I have to do?"

"No" Beron said as he lifted his own ale to his lips. "Once that is done I have a…personal request."

"Personal request?"

"Yea. I have some friends in King's Landing that will need to leave before the siege. I'll tell you the details of that one later though."

Davos nodded. "Well then what are we waiting for?"

Beron grinned at him. "That's the spirit! Keep that up when you trying to outrun Paxter Redwyne's war galleys and the war will be over in no time!"

Davos shrugged. "It always seemed to work when I was outrunning you so I don't see why it shan't work on another uppity lord."

It was Davos's turn to laugh this time as he watched Beron's grin twist into a scowl.


	30. Chapter 30

Rhaegar Targaryen rode in the gates of the Red Keep like a returning conqueror and surrounded by a Dornish host. Jamie watched from his post next to Aerys as Rhaegar dismounted and approached his father. Suspiciously absent from Rhaegar's side was Ser's Gerold, Oswell and Arthur. Their absence did not bode well.

"Father." Rhaegar said as he bowed before the king of the seven kingdoms. Aerys scowled at him. "Where are the other Kingsguard? Where is Ser's Arthur and Oswell? Where is the lord commander of _my _Kingsguard?" He snapped.

Rhaegar smiled consolingly. "I have dispatched them on a very important mission."

Aerys regarded him suspiciously. "What game are you playing at boy?"

"Nothing father. I am your loyal servant, as always."

Aerys continued to scowl at him before dismissing him with a wave of his hand. "I expect to see you at the small council meeting in half an hour."

Rhaegar nodded and got to his feet before walking away. Aerys shuffled away and Jamie followed in his wake. The smell of perfume filled the air and Varys made his presence known.

"My King," Varys said as he bowed low before Aerys. Aerys smiled at the eunuch. "What news does my favourite eunuch bring me today?"

Varys tittered. "A rather important northern lord was in the city a few days ago."

Aerys frowned. "Who was it? What was he doing? Did you kill him?"

Varys giggled. "It was a certain Beron Saltstark, the heir to the Saltsmaw. As to what he was doing he was chasing down a small time, but rather successful smuggler."

"Smuggler? What did he want with the smuggler?"

"It seems that this smuggler managed to pull off an impossible feat a few years ago. He managed to get through the Wolf's Maw…without a pilot."

Aerys eyes lit up. "Where is this smuggler? We can use him to take back the Wolf's Maw!" We can rename it something better, like the Dragon's Maw!" Aerys cackled, clearly pleased with himself.

Varys sighed sadly. "Alas your majesty, the northerner took him with him when he left King's Landing, though what for no one knows."

Aerys scowled, upset at how quickly his plans had been derailed. "I want him dead! I want them all dead. I want them too burn! Burn them all!"

Aerys shuffled away, muttering to himself.

An hour later Jamie was standing by the wall of the small council chambers while the lords of the small council argued amongst themselves. There were eight seats in the room, but only six of them were filled. The first was filled by Aerys. To his right sat Rhaegar, and the seat to his left, the seat of the Hand to the King was empty. Normally Jon Connington would be sitting there, but no one had heard from him since he had sent back a rider saying he was engaging a northern host at Stoney Sept, where Robert Baratheon was said to be hiding. Next was the master of coin, Qarlton Chelstead. Next to him was the master of laws, Symond Staunton who sat across from Lucerys Velaryon, the master of ships. Varys sat next to him, who sat next to Grand Maester Pycelle. The last chair, which was also empty, belonged to Ser Gerold, but only Rhaegar knew where he was.

"So what has happened to Jon Connington's host?" Rhaegar asked Varys as he reached for the wine pitcher in the middle of the table.

"I don't know your grace. My little birds have been strangely silent."

Rhaegar scowled at the Master of Whispers. His dislike for the essosi was well known. "What use is a Master of Whispers who does not know?"

"I know much my prince," Varys simpered. "But I don't know everything."

"Well what do you know?" Rhaegar asked.

"I know that the rebels-"

"Traitors!" Aerys barked.

"Traitors," Varys conceded, "Have gathered a host on the northern bank of the Trident, in preparation for a concerted push towards King's Landing. The Riverlords have declared for Stark's, with the exception of the Darry's, Whent's and their bannermen. Robert led a stormlord host north before being waylaid by first Mace Tyrell and then Jon Connington. Robert split from his host and fled west, while his host continued north. Connington pursued Robert, and his host managed to make it to the traitor's northern host."

"What of the troop numbers?"

"The north is said to be able to field 20,000 men. Whether or not this is actually true no one actually knows. However if their involvement in previous conflicts is anything to go by this is either a slight exaggeration or the northerners never sent their true strength. The Vale has managed to pull together another 20,000 men. The riverlords are split and as such only managed to field some 10,000 men. Robert's host was said to be 3500 strong. By the time they meet you in battle, wherever that may be, they will number at maximum about 53500 men. If Connington manages to defeat them at Sontey Sept however, you will only be facing the 20,000 men that are camped on the Trident, who are currently under the command of Bronze Yohn Royce and a northern lord who I have never heard of."

Rhaegar nodded. "How many men can we field?"

"Including Connington's host…perhaps 55000 from the Dornish host you brought and the crownlands levies. But Mace Tyrell has another 100,000 men of the reach."

Rhaegar nodded. "So what should we do?"

Lucerys Velaryon was the first to speak. "Engage their forces on the trident now before they can properly organise. We already outnumber them by 2500 men, if not more. By now Connington should have bloodied them, if not defeated them at Stoney Sept. Strike at them now, while they are still unorganised."

"And if they defeat us on the Trident?" Qarlton Chelstead asked.

Lucerys Velaryon shrugged. "Mace has another 100,000 men sitting down the King's Road outside of Storm's End. Just call for them."

Rhaegar nodded. "That could work. If only we knew what happened to Connington's host."

Up in the rafters a raven cackled. Jamie glanced up at the noise and his heart almost stopped in his chest.

A white raven sat there looking down at him with intelligent eyes. With intelligent _grey _eyes. Eyes that he hadn't seen since…

He drew his sword in a rush and jumped in front of the king. The raven just cawed as though it was amused and tilted its head at him.

It soared down to the table and landed in front of Grand Maester Pycelle. Jamie went to swat it with his sword, but was stopped by Rhaegar.

"Look!" Rhaegar said as he pointed at the raven's legs. Two scrolls were tied around its legs. He turned to the Grand Maester and gestured at the raven. "What are you waiting for?"

With shaking hands Pycelle reached out and retrieved the first of the scrolls. He unscrolled it with shaking hands and began to read aloud.

_To The Mad King and all his sycophants,_

_Jon Connington's host was slain to the last man. Connington lives, though he is in our tender care._

_Connington is currently held at our camp on the Trident. Come, if you're brave enough and see if you have the strength to take him back. Lately he's been moaning for some 'silver prince', whomever that may be._

_To the Mad King, the one that was once called Aerys Targaryen._

_Winter is coming for you._

_First though I will make sure you feel my pain. You will feel the anguish I had to go through. You will feel everything from my perspective…and I will build a monument to last the ages and remind the world why you do not provoke house Stark._

_We are a line of Kings 8000 years old._

_You are the least of all the dragonlords of Valyria. Your rule over these kingdoms has not even lasted 300 years, and at the rate this war is going your family's rule will not see 284ac. To House Stark, you are no more than babes, still suckling at your mother's teats._

_House Stark has not forgotten the debts we owe to you. We will repay you and eye for and eye, and tooth for a tooth. We will repay you blood for blood, and then some more._

_The North _Remembers_. The North Remembers Brandon Stark. The North Remembers out lost lords and harmed heirs. The North _Remembers.

_You consider yourselves above us, not held to the laws of gods and men. Well none who walk this earth are above the laws of gods and men and I will prove it to you. I will cast you from the throne that was forged in fire and blood and destroy the last gasps of Valyria._

_You will find that your dragonfire does not warm so well in the darkness of winter._

_You will find that your stone walls have no defence against the winter snows._

_You will find that your seven gods have no power over the Weirwood Warriors._

_So Mad King, send your armies to die. Send your soldiers to wither in the cold. Send your heir to battle, and I will prove once and for all that the direwolf is greater than the dragon._

_Finally, to the rapist they call Rhaegar, the man who was once hailed as the saviour from his father's madness._

_How the mighty have fallen._

_For you, I will repeat the words that my son said upon his entrance to the Mad King's lair._

_Come. Out. And. Die._

_To those who wish to live, bend the knee to Robert Baratheon, first of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm._

_To the rest of you, prepare to die._

_The Burnt Lord._

Pycelle looked up at Aerys who was quivering in rage. "Kill him! I want him dead! Burn him! Burn them all!"

"What does the other scroll say?" Rhaegar asked in small voice.

Hands quivering in fear, Pycelle reached out and grasped the remaining scroll. He pulled it from the raven's leg, and the second it was detached the raven fluttered back up to the rafters.

Pycelle rolled open the scroll before squeaking in horror and dropping the scroll back on the table. He backed away from it and began to search the room, his eyes darting to every shadow and searching every corner.

Rhaegar reached out and unrolled the scroll for all to see.

Jamie's heart quickened in his chest as he observed the simple etched onto the black paper. A white eye peered back at him, and beneath it the name Aerys Targaryen was etched in white ink.

The message was clear. The White Eye was hunting. Aerys death was now all but assured.

Up in the rafters a raven cackled continuously, chilling Jamie to the bone.


	31. Chapter 31

Ashara watched coldly as her brother departed Starfall, his white cloak flapping in the wind, and a midwife trailing in his wake. She hated him. She hated all of them. Because of what he and his silver fucking prince had done, her dear sweet Ned would never warm her bed again.

Instead he would spend his days in a bed warmed by Catelyn Tully. She hated her too. And her scheming, ambitious, arrogant father. She didn't deserve Ned. She didn't deserve the love he would undoubtedly give her. She didn't deserve the feel of his strong warm arms. It all should have been hers.

Arthur turned around just before he passed from view and raised his hand in farewell. She wanted to return the wave with a crude gesture, but the manners that had been hammered into her from birth prevented her from doing so.

She glared at his white cloak as it disappeared from view. In truth, none of them were worthy. Not Ser Gerold Hightower, not Ser Oswell Whent, not Ser Barristan Selmy, not Ser Llewyn Martell, not Ser Jonothor Darry, not Ser Jamie Lannister and definitely not Ser Arthur Dayne. All of them had stood by and watched as a mad man tore the realm apart. All of them had stood by and watched as Aerys had torn her life apart. All of them had stood by and watched as they had torn Ned's life apart.

Oh how she wanted them dead. Rhaegar especially. Lyanna too. No, death would be too quick for the both of them. She wanted them to suffer as she had. She wanted them to watch as the one they loved was torn from them.

She wanted their hearts to ache as her's did. She wanted them to miss each other's touch as she did. And then, once they had wallowed in their misery enough, she wanted them to marry another. She had never liked Robert, indeed she had been outright disgusted by him at times, but now she hoped he got his lady love. Not for his sake, but for the sake of Lyanna's suffering.

She wanted her to spend her life knowing how she was feeling. To being resigned to knowing that her love would never warm her bed again. Instead his warmth would be taken by another, another who she detested.

Ashara would never take another to bed again. None would be able to replace Ned.

At first Ashara had been furious at Ned. How dare he betray her for another's bed? How dare he have lied to her? How dare he have promised to marry her once the war was done, only to renege on his word as soon as she was gone? How dare he have done as duty and honour demanded?

But then as quickly as her hate had come it had gone. She had fallen in love with him for that exact reason. He was dutiful and honourable above all else, a trait that had seen him refuse her advances more than once. When he had first refused her she had been offended, but it quickly switched to amusement when she realised why. Then it had become strangely endearing as he refused time and time again.

And then before she knew it she had fallen in love with him. He had taken her before his gods and together they had been betrothed. Why he had broken the betrothal she did not know, and when she saw him next, she planned to ask.

She did know that he would have done what honour and duty demanded and for that she loved for him. For leaving her though, and for breaking her betrothal she hated him.

Ashara looked down at the Weirwood bracelet still encircling her wrist. When she had first received the news she had wanted to tear it off, but a small part of her stayed. Now though she refused to tear it off until Ned had told her face to face why he had done what he had.

Only then could her shattered heart rest in peace. Only once she had looked him in the eyes and seen that he was finished. Only once she had heard his excuses and felt the lack of warmth from his arms could she do so. Until then she would keep it on.

She would keep it on until she was certain his love for her was dead, a fact she refused to believe.

In her rapidly growing stomach a leg kicked out. She placed her hand on her stomach feeling the life growing within. She would keep it on for her child, for the knowledge that the gods of her child's father, and now also her, had believed in the love they had held for each other.

Until the day she knew Ned's love was dead, or her child no longer graced the world, she would keep it on. She would keep it on, in memory of the love they once had, and the hope that it could one day be rekindled.

She left the courtyard then, most of the servants already having gone on their way. She wandered up the steps of the Palestone tower, to enter a room where her sister played with the dolls her elder brother had made for her.

Thank the gods Arthur hadn't made them. If he had she thought she would have burnt them. She hated him. More than she could bare to acknowledge. Her whole life he had been her closest confidant and friend. Their elder brother was often consumed with whatever the heirs of lords did and so it was to Arthur she had run with her hurts and woes, it was Arthur who had consoled her and held her in his arms. Now she wanted him nothing more than dead.

Allyria ran up to her and embraced her in a soft hug, careful of the bump that graced her belly.

"How is your baby today?" She asked in the sing-song voice that only the young can muster. Ashara smiled down at her little sister. "He kicked earlier. Mayhaps if you're very quiet he will do it again."

Eyes shining in wonder, Allyria placed her ear gently on her stomach and scrunched her face up as she listened carefully.

"I hope you have a baby girl!" Allyria said as she continued to listen.

Ashara smiled down at her. "No, it's going to be a boy."

Allyria scrunched up her face in distaste causing Ashara to burst out laughing. "How do you know?" Allyria asked as she pulled away from her stomach.

"Call it a mother's intuition." Ashara replied.


	32. Chapter 32

The small council chambers erupted in roars and voices, and above it all that damned bird still cackled in laughter.

"We must engage now!" Lucerys was crying. "We have no choice. The Hand of the King is danger!"

"He is the Hand of the King no longer." Aerys snarled. "For losing the battle of the bells I strip him of all titles, lands and authorities within the seven kingdoms and sentence him to exile!"

With that Aerys glared up at the cackling bird. "See!" He cried. "Your hostage is worth nothing to us!"

The bird just cackled harder. It was really beginning to grate on Jamie's nerves.

Rhaegar turned to his father. "No!" He almost yelled "Jon Connington is a good soldier. We need him!"

"The dragon needs no one!" Aerys snarled back.

"Then who shall be Hand?" Pycelle asked.

Aerys turned to Qarlton Chelstead. "Lord Chelstead shall be hand."

Qarlton Chelstead paled. "Me?" He stuttered. "I am not worthy of the honour!"

"Yes you are!" Aerys snapped. "And you will do the job well or you will end up in a worse position than Connington!"

Lord Chestead nodded and accepted the pin that Aerys handed to him.

"Now what do we do about the traitors?" Varys asked.

Symond Staunton stirred. "My Lords, we all know what this war was started over. Why don't we just give them back Lyanna Stark?"

Aerys stiffened in his seat. "The dragon concedes nothing!" He screamed. "The dragon gives nothing!"

Symond Staunton muttered an apology for his words and Aerys turned to Rhaegar. "He is right though. You caused this mess when you took the wolf bitch. Now I don't mind it when a man takes what he wants, the gods know I did it enough…" Rhaegar stiffened in anger at Aery's reference to what he did to his mother, "but I always fixed the messes I made. So you'll solve this problem. Come and tell me what you have chosen to do when you've decided."

With that, Aerys hopped out of his chair and shuffled from the chamber, Ser Barristan trailing in his wake.

All eyes turned to Rhaegar, who watched his father leave with sad violet eyes.

Once the door had closed behind the king, Rhaegar sighed and seemed to collapse in on himself. He slumped in his chair and placed his hand over his eyes. For a while the entire seemed to wait for him to do something, until one could bare the silence no longer.

"So what do we do?" Staunton asked.

Rhaegar glanced up at him. "I don't know."

Lucerys Velaryon leaned forward. "We have to move now, before they manage to organise themselves!"

Rhaegar rolled his eyes at him, before slipping back into silence.

"Lord Velaryon is right My Prince." Varys simpered.

Rhaegar glared at him. "You have confessed that you know nothing of their army at the moment. What advice can you give that we can already not figure out from that letter?"

Varys tittered. "I may not know much of the northern army in Westeros, but I do know of the northern army in Essos."

Qarlton Chelstead frowned. "You mean the Company of the Rose?"

Varys nodded. "If we wait, then it will give the northerners time to recall the company, bolstering their forces by another 20,000 men."

Qarlton Chelstead frowned. "Is the Company of the Rose that powerful?"

Pycelle nodded and stroked his beard. "Yes…yes it is. It has been where most of the north's second and third sons have gone to find glory and honour, and many of them stay on for life, taking wives and raising children within the company."

"They also have a very close relationship with Braavos." Varys supplied, "In exchange for homes for the families of their soldiers, the company acts as Braavos's private army. It is entirely possible that the Braavosi will support the northern war effort, especially when considering their trade and military ties. If we strike now we will still have the advantage. Their troops are currently battle weary, having already fought Connington's host of 15000 men. Our troops are fresh. To give them more time would only allow them time to pull in more troops, and refreshen their already tired troops."

The room sat in silence as Rhaegar pondered what Varys had said. Finally he lifted his head and looked the Hand of the King in the eye.

"Call every soldier available to us within 20 leagues. We will march on them at the Trident now. Hopefully Connington managed to bloody them enough that their forces are depleted. We will take no risks though. Send word to Mace Tyrell. I want 20000 men under the command of Randyll Tarly following me up the Kingsroad. By the time I get to the Trident we should have 70,000 men to confront the rebels with. If that's not enough, then we're doomed."

With that Rhaegar get up from his seat and stormed from the room.

Up in the rafters the white raven, which had remained silent for a while, began to cackle again.

Varys glanced up at the bird. He stood up and peered closely at the bird, before giggling. "Is that you Lord Rickard? Are you the one in that birds little head?"

To everyone's surprise the bird replied. "_Spider._" It said as it hopped about. "_Come out and die! Come out and die! Come out and die!"_

It cackled, clearly very pleased with itself.

"You mean that Lord Rickard was listening on in this conversation?!" Symond Staunton stuttered as he stared at the bird in horror. "He'll march his troops down to meet us before Tarly can reinforce us!"

Varys shook his head. "It doesn't matter, does it Lord Rickard? You want us to meet you on the Trident don't you? You don't care how many you have to face do you?"

The bird cackled again. _"Trident." _It preened._ "Come and die! Come out and die! Come out and die!"_

"What game are you playing at Lord Rickard?" Varys asked.

The bird stopped hopping around and looked down at Varys. _"Game!_" It called, _"I know! I know! I know Illyrio!"_

To Jamie's amazement the normally unreadable Master of Whispers looked incredibly shaken, as though someone had just told him someone he loved was dead.

With that the bird stretched its wings and soared out of the window, rapidly disappearing into the sky.


	33. Chapter 33

Davos's little boat cut through the choppy waters, laden down with northern soldiers and foodstuffs. Beron had filled his ship with grain, salted beef, onions and net fulls of fresh fish. He had also given him 20 men who were to replace the worst of the existing garrison.

His black sails fluttered in the twilight wind, and in the distance he warily watched the Redwyne fleet that was meant to be enforcing the blockade. Beron had promised a distraction, but as such, one had yet to come. He tacked in the wind, not wanting to push further without Beron's promised distraction.

They sat circling the same spot for ten minutes before the distraction came. And what a distraction it was.

The animal, a whale, the likes of which Davos had only seen in the deepest northern waters erupted from the water next to a ship and fell onto it, causing the ship to split in half and begin to rapidly sink.

The rest of the fleet began to immediately converge on the wreckage of the sunken ship and search for the surviors.

"By the gods…" Davos whispered. "How do you do that?"

The northman next to him, a man by the name of Abel glanced at him amused. "It's what wargs do. Some lucky chap somewhere was born with a gods-given gift and managed to make friends with that monster. Now it will do as he asks."

Davos watched as the last remnants of the shattered ship began to sink beneath the waves. Suddenly the whale resurfaced, almost 200 yards away and smashed itself against another ship. The results were similar to the first and Davos watched as more men were sent to their deaths beneath the waves.

"Will we be going now?" Abel asked in a bored tone.

Davos stirred himself form where he watched the whale in horrified fascination and turned back to his ship. In the distance he could just make out the stone walls of Storm's End perched upon the basalt cliffs. Somewhere in that jagged mass of stone was a narrow cave which had direct access to Storm's End, and it was his job to find it, and then get in and out of it.

Sending a prayer up to the gods one last time he began to pull taut the lines of his black sails, causing his ship to begin to skim lightly over the waves, towards his destination. The northmen in the ship stirred in anticipation as they passed the sea stacks that littered shipbreaker bay.

Davos tied his lines to their post, locking the sails in position, and ensuring the wind would continue to fuel their journey into and out of the accursed cave. He placed his hand on the tiller and turned aorudn one last time to see what had happened to Paxter Redwyne's fleet.

He wished he hadn't. The whale had sunk another two ships, and three more had somehow been set on fire. As he watched though, he saw how. Eagles carrying pots of burning oil were flitting through the night sky emptying their loads on the ships. Far to the east the northern fleet had begun to engage the reachmen fleet.

While there may have been more arbour ships that were larger and better armed, it aided them to no avail in the poor light. In many cases, it was actually working against them, as they got in each other's way. One ship had manged to breakout of the gridlock of the arbour fleet and was pursuing a smaller northern ship. The northern ship was faster however, and had soon dragged it out away from the protection of the other ships. Out of the night, drifted more northern ships and they surrounded it and attacked, in a style that reminded Davos of the time he had seen a pack of wolves hunt a deer.

When he remembered who the fleet belonged to it sent shivers down his spine. The Stark's truly were wolves, in all they did. He turned back towards the front of his ship, away from the carnage behind him and steered his little craft through the waters.

"There!" Abel whispered as he pointed to an inky black cavity in the cliff face in front of them. Davos nodded to indicate he had seen and began to adjust the tiller to accommodate his route. Davos's heart leapt into his throat when he felt the hull of his ship grind against the stone beneath the surface of the waves. A sea stack suddenly loomed out of the late night mist and he was forced to swing the tiller hard to avoid a collision causing one of the northerners to fall into the frigid waters.

He turned to Abel who shook his head. "We need to continue." Abel said as he looked back mournfully. "We all knew the risks of this job when we volunteered. We all expected to either die of drowning or on the end of a Reachmen's spear."

Davos nodded numbly, still horrified by the life he had left behind.

The next few minutes were spent in frantic concentration from all men on board as they searched the seas for more stone, desperate to avoid a repeat of the incidence minutes before. Thankfully it was soon over as Davos guided the craft into the small cave. Torches lit a pier which was almost 50 yards in front of them. Two guards were standing at attention and stiffened when they saw the black sailed craft enter the cove. Immediately they readied their weapons while shouting to their unseen companions.

Four more men rushed down onto their pier, clutching their spear tightly. As their boat drifted closer, Davos could see the emaciated frames their armour had been hiding. Clearly these men had been wanting for food for a while.

"Hoy!" Abel called as he moved to the prow. "We come with men and food to relieve the castle!"

On the pier the men squinted suspiciously. "Who are you?" One asked.

"We're Lord Stark's men. Our fleet it engaging the Redwyne fleet as we speak. We don't have long before they will need to flee. Permission to land?"

The men on the pier collapsed to their knees in relief when they heard who it was. One of them was sobbing like a child, tears streaming down his face.

"Permission granted!" One managed to stutter out.

Davos moved the craft forward again and pulled it up at the pier. He moved from his post and threw the ropes to the men on the pier, who immediately fixed his ship to the posts.

Abel jumped from the ship and onto the pier, greeting the men with firm handshakes. "Where is Lord Stannis?" He asked.

"Here." A voice replied and Davos turned to see an incredibly gaunt man descending the staircase that led to Storm's End. His eyes were sunken into his skull, his close cropped beard no more than a shadow across his hollow cheeks and bony jawbone. Yet there was power in his stare, an iron ferocity that told Davos that Mace Tyrell would never take this castle while Stannis was still able to swing a sword. He would fight to the last, and then some more.

"Who are you?" Stannis asked as he alighted on the pier. Abel turned to him. "We're Lord Stark's men, under the command of Beron Saltstark, heir to Saltsmaw and admiral of the Eastern fleet."

"What are you doing here?"

"We've come to deliver food, evacuate the sick and wounded and relieve the garrison."

Stannis scowled suspiciously. "Your Ned Stark's men you say?"

Abel nodded. "Yes."

Stannis's face twisted in distaste, as though the idea of accepting help from Ned Stark was abhorrent. "I'll take the food but none of Ned Stark's men will walk these walls."

Abel stared at him in shock. "But what of your sick and wounded?" He exclaimed. "What of your young and old? We've come to help you!"

Stannis stubbornly shook his head. "I will not have it be said that I could not defend my own walls with my own men."

One of the northerners behind Davos scoffed. "Then you'll doom all your men to die!"

Stannis glared at the offending man before switching his cool gaze back to Abel. "I will hold my own walls. Thank you for the food, but I cannot accept your men."

Abel turned to Davos, showing the same look of sad regret that had been on his face when his colleague had been washed overboard. Davos felt a sudden wave of anger and sadness. He wondered if Abel had known the man who had been washed overboard. He jumped off the ship and landed in front of Stannis.

"Now listen here Lord Stannis! I didn't make my way through these waters in the dead of night, risking my life and the lives of all the men on board to have you say no. Beron Saltstark didn't attack Paxtor Redwyne's fleet when he was outnumbered by two to one for you to say no! I lost one man from a craft of twenty! How many men do you think Beron lost giving me the opportunity to get in here? Do you know what Abel told me when we lost our first man? He said we all knew the risks, we all knew we'd either end up drowned or on the end of a Reachmen's spear. These men expect to, and are prepared to, die for you! Do not repay their sacrifice by attempting to appease whatever petty insecurities you have yourself."

A soon as Davos had finished speaking he mentally kicked himself. He had gone too far. He was just a commoner from Fleabottom, with a Fleabottom accent to boot. He had no lord's protection and this man could have him killed.

"You're not a northerner, are you?" Stannis asked with a curious glint in his eyes.

"No." Davos said as he watched him closely. To his surprise the man seemed more impressed than angry at Davos.

"What's your name?"

"Davos."

"Davos who?"

Davos shrugged. "Davos the smuggler. I'm just a commoner from Fleabottom."

Stannis frowned thoughtfully. "Then what are you doing here?"

"I know what it's like to go without food Lord Stannis and it's a fate I would wish upon no one. When Beron offered me an opportunity to help a starving man I couldn't say no."

"You know Beron?"

Davos shifted while behind him the northerners laughed. "We're familiar."

"Aye!" Abel called, "Familiar with sight of Beron bearing down on him while he's hauling smuggled goods!"

To Davos's surprise a glint of amusement showed in Stannis's eyes. He turned to the northerners. "Very well. You can enter, but no man of my original garrison will leave this castle until the siege is lifted or the Reachmen are swarming over our walls."

Abel nodded and began directing his men to unload the food. Daovs helped and soon the ship was empty once more. Davos turned to back Abel. "I'll be back tomorrow night." He said as he got back onto his boat, "With more men and more food."

Abel nodded. "When you see Beron tell him of Weslar's death."

"Did you know him well?" Davos asked.

Abel shook his head. "No I didn't. Beron did though."

Davos nodded and turned to go when Abel called his name once more. He turned to see him looking at him with respect. "Thank you for what you did with Lord Stannis. I don't what I would have said to him."

Davos nodded one last time before hopping back onto his boat and sailing his boat out of the cove.

Hours later he dragged his ship ashore, miles north of Storm's End to find Beron Saltstark waiting for him.

"How did you go?" Beron asked.

"Good." Davos replied. "All the food was unloaded and the men went to their posts."

"Were there no wounded?"

"Stannis refused to allow any of his men to leave. He said he would not have it said that he could not defend his walls with his own men."

Beron laughed. "He always was a prickly bastard."

Davos nodded. "He does seem the type. How did you go?"

Beron smile dropped. "We lost seven ships."

"How many did they lose?"

"Seventeen."

"Well then you did well!"

"No. My brother was captain of one of the ships that went down."

"Oh." Davos said suddenly remembering another man. "Abel said to tell you that we lost a man by the name of Weslar."

Beron stopped and looked him in the eye. His face was white, and his hands were shaking. "No." He whispered. "Tell me you're japing! Please!"

"I'm sorry Beron, I'm not. Did you know him well?"

"Know him well?" Beron cried. "He was my younger brother!"

The man collapsed into sobs. "I have no more brothers now." He managed to gasp out.

A wave of compassion for the younger man suddenly overcame Davos. "I'm sorry Beron." He murmured as he patted his back consolingly. "I don't know of many of the burdens you will bare as lord, but I do know the burdens of a man who has lost his brother."

Beron looked up at him with tear swollen eyes. "Did you lose a brother too?" He asked.

"Aye." Davos replied. "He was young when he wanted to join me on one of my smuggling ventures. Only a lad of sixteen, but as spirited as they came. His maiden voyage and we got caught in a storm. It was one of the worst I've ever seen. Waves as tall as castle walls, and rain so heavy it was hard to breathe. One minute he was there, the next he was gone. My father died of a broken heart not long afterwards."

Beron looked out to the sea, where the sun was just beginning to rise. "You know of the burdens of man who has lost his brother. I would have you know of the burdens of lordship as well Davos. When the war is over, seek me out and I will personally petition Lord Stark to give you lands worthy of a man of your worth. And if he refuses me I shall petition the king. And if he refuses me I shall bear no children and name you the heir of the Saltsmaw."


	34. Chapter 34

The campfire flickered in the dying light, causing the shadows of the desert to dance around them. Ser Gerold was with the girl in the tower after she had attempted to escape again. It didn't seem to matter to her that she was seven months pregnant, she was determined to steal a horse and pursue Rhaegar to King's Landing. She swore she could end the war if only she was given the chance.

Stupid girl. It was all too late. Rickard Stark would not roll over and die now, not when he had lost his eldest son. Eddard Stark would not call back his armies, not now that he had married the Tully wench.

Plus, he didn't want the war to end. He wanted a reckoning with Ned Stark for leaving a bastard in his sister's belly and filling her head with empty promises of love and marriage.

Isn't that what Rhaegar did?

The voice sprung into his head unbidden, so clear that Arthur could have sworn someone had whispered it in his ear. He looked up, but Oswell was quiet, just staring blankly into the flames. No sounds had come from the tower either, and Arthur turned to look behind him. Nothing was there but sand and scrub.

His movement drew the attention of Oswell who looked up at him. "Something wrong?" Oswell asked as he reached for his blade.

Arthur's eyes continued to search the darkness, looking for whatever had whispered that thought into his ear. Eventually he turned around and looked back at Oswell. "No." He replied. "I thought I heard something."

Oswell nodded. "You've spent too much time around Targaryen's Arthur. You're beginning to pick up their madness."

Arthur scowled at him. "I only spend much time around Rhaegar."

"Exactly." Oswell replied. The men sat in silence for a while, contemplating Oswell's words until Oswell stirred again. "Do you know what we're sitting in this desert for?" He suddenly snapped.

Arthur watched him as he threw a blade of grass into the flames. His brow was furrowed and he looked angry. Oswell looked up at him when he did not respond. "Prophecy!" He all but spat. "Because Rhaegar thinks that that…girl…, the one we've locked in that tower, will give him some magical daughter who will throw back the mythical demons of the far north! What was wrong with the children Elia gave him? Were they not magical enough for him?! Now because of his obsession with whatever book he read, I'm sitting in the middle of a desert while my brother and his soldiers are fighting a war!"

"Do not speak of Elia Martell." Arthur hissed as he closed his eyes.

"It's Elia Targaryen Arthur. She has two children, and is one of the kindest soul in the world."

"Do not speak of Elia." Arthur hissed as he glared at his old friend.

"Why?" Oswell challenged. "Why shouldn't I? I swore an oath to protect the entire royal family and last I checked that included Elia and h-"

"DO NOT SPEAK OF ELIA!" Arthur roared as he threw himself at his old friend. They grappled in the sand, throwing punches and trying to hurt each other as much as possible. Oswell grinned savagely as he landed a particularly good punch into Arthur's stomach. Arthur growled in response and landed a punch on Oswell's jaw that wiped that stupid, ever present, annoying smirk off his face. He went to punch him again when a firm grip grabbed him by the back of his collar and threw him off Oswell.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Ser Gerold Hightower hissed as he bulled his way in-between them. Neither of them answered for the longest time, just glaring at each other. "Someone better tell me right now or I'll make you two the first Kingsguard in all history to be retired!"

With a smile as blinding as it was fake, Oswell turned to Gerold and grinned. "Why it was only a friendly scrap between old friends trying to keep up their brawling skills while stuck in the middle of the desert!"

Gerold squinted at Arthur suspiciously, who forced a shaky grin to his face and nodded along with Oswell. It would do no good for Ser Gerold to know what the fight had really been over. Nothing good would come of The White Bull knowing Arthur's private thoughts. That could only lead to more problems, and the gods knew they already had enough.

Ser Gerold glared at the both of them before turning away. "I better not catch you doing it again! If you want to practise something, practise your swordplay."

"Of course Lord Commander!" Oswell yelled at Ser Gerold's retreating figure before turning to back to Arthur with a glare so mean it could melt ice.

He turned back to the fire and began to poke at the shifting coals.

Arthur resumed his seat on the other side of the fire and pulled out Dawn from its gilded scabbard. He picked up his whetstone and began to run it down the milkglass blade, letting the rhythm run through him, allowing the sound to fill his ears. Already he could feel himself calming down. The blood was no longer rushing through his ears as fast and his hands were no longer trembling.

"I'm sorry." He said as he looked at Ser Oswell. Oswell glanced up but otherwise continued to ignore him. The two sat in silence for a long while, listening to the desert come alive around them.

"Why?" Oswell asked breaking the tranquillity around them.

Arthur shifted his gaze away from the stars and back to Oswell. He sighed and lay back on the sands.

"I loved her." Arthur replied wistfully. "I loved her and she loved me. If I remember her I fear I may not remember my oaths. I learnt long ago that she and my oaths cannot co-exist. So I chose my oaths and the more I think about her the harder it is to abide by them. I fear that if I spend too much time thinking about her when the time finally comes, when whoever comes to get her comes, I will not fulfil my oaths."

Oswell sighed. "Will you stop them or let them pass?"

"That's what I fear. If Rhaegar returns I fear all he will find is blood and bones. He will find a missing babe, a dead mistress and an absent Sword of The Morning."

"And if someone else comes?"

"I'm afraid I'll let them pass." Arthur thought for a minute. "Apart from Ned Stark. He I will never let pass. That one is personal."

Oswell grunted in reply. "To oaths!" He mocked as he raised his water canteen.

"To oaths!" Arthur replied as he raised his own.

Minutes later he heard yelling from the tower and rolled his eyes. She was clearly upset over something. He turned to the tower to see her descending the rickety staircase, her belly swollen with Rhaegar's offspring.

Oswell groaned. "How far do you reckon she's going to get now?"

Arthur laughed mirthlessly.

"I just want some air! You haven't let me out of the tower in two weeks!" She was screaming.

"And for good reason!" Ser Gerold screamed back. "The last time you were out of the tower you tried to steal a horse!"

"Just give me ten minutes!"

Ser Gerold rolled his eyes, clearly exasperated with the girl. "Ser Arthur!" He called.

Arthur scrambled to his feet and grabbed his sword. "Yes?"

"Take the girl for a walk."

"Me?" Arthur asked incredulously.

"Yes you!"

"Why me?"

"Cause you swore an oath to obey your Lord Commander and I'm telling you too!"

Arthur turned to Oswell who smirked and raised his canteen. The words passed unspoken between them.

To Oaths.

He raised his canteen back to Oswell and went to do as his Lord Commander bid. She had reached the bottom of the stairs by the time he had gotten there and he held out an arm for him to grasp. She refused and made her way to the desert floor by herself. Sighing in exasperation he followed her off into the desert. She walked for five minutes until the campfire was a tiny speck behind them.

"Did you grow up near here Arthur?" She asked suddenly, catching him off guard.

"Yes." Arthur replied shortly. He had no wish to engage in conversation with this girl and he hoped she understood that. Unfortunately it seemed she did not get the signs, or she just chose to ignore them.

"Weren't you hot? It gets so hot here during the day. Nothing like back home in Winterfell. I miss the cold of Winterfell."

"Maybe you should have stayed then." Arthur spat.

The girl had the cheek to smile at him!

"I fear I have done something to cause you to be upset at me. Please tell me if I have."

"Upset me?" Arthur asked his eyebrows. "Yes you have upset me! Because you chose to run away with Rhaegar the realm is in a state of war. Because you chose to run away my brother and father will soon be on the field of battle fighting your brother and father. Because you chose to run away my sister will never get to marry the man she wants to! Instead he was married to your dead brother's betrothed all so your father could have his troops! So excuse me if I seem a little bit cold, but you have doomed thousands of men to death and just as many women to mourning because you could not resist a pretty face and a silky voice!"

To Arthur's great surprise his words seemed to stir something in the girl, whose face drained of colour and tears sprung into her eyes.

"I know what I have done." She said hoarsely. "I know who I have doomed to death. But there is war coming…one my child will be key in!"

Arthur's jaw clenched when he heard those words. He turned his head away from her in order not to murder her. How could she be so callous about it? Did she not see what Rhaegar was?"

"I have known Rhaegar for far longer than any other man on this earth. I know his innermost thoughts, his greatest insecurities and his proudest moments. For many of them I have been beside him. I know him better than I know my own brothers and sisters. As much as it pains me to say this you a reciting the words of a madman. Rhaegar may not have the madness of his father, but he has a madness regardless. He is a better mummer than Aerys, which is all. The words he speaks are lies. You have doomed us all for nothing!"

The girl's bottom lip quivered. Arthur bowed low. "So my queen," He all but spat, "I believe it is time to return to the tower!"

He turned to go when he was stopped by a whisper so faint he didn't think he had heard it at first.

"Excuse me?" He asked with a frown.

"Thank you." She said with a quavering voice.

"Thank you?" He asked. "Thank you for what?"

"For telling the truth to me." She replied as she lifted her chin high, daring him to contradict her. "Thank you for telling me the truth when no one else would."

Arthur swallowed before nodding. "If only you had of realised the truth back at Harrenhall."

"If only…" Lyanna murmured before setting off in the direction of the tower. Arthur trailed in her wake, his insides torn at the betrayal he had just committed.

Forgive me Rhaegar, He thought, but someone needs to save you two from yourselves.


	35. Chapter 35

Jon Arryn walked towards the command tent of the rebel host that was camped upon the Trident. They had managed to consolidate much of their forces, and their host now numbered 83,500 men. The bulk of their forces, some 50,000 men, were all northerners. Furthermore, Rickard Stark had sworn he had more men to the East and West, as well as a spare 40,000 sitting back home in the North. Truth be told the armies the north could field were staggering and Jon was glad that he was not on the Targaryen's side.

What's more the armies the north fielded were professional, hardy and well trained men. Indeed in a conversation with Ned, he had been informed that all boys in the north are trained with the bow from five years of age, the spear from ten years of age, and a weapon of their own choice once they had turned fifteen. Many had chosen either the sword of the axe it seemed as it was clearly the most prevalent weapon amongst the northerners. Even stranger though was the women that lived, ate and trained alongside the male counterparts. Many of them were from some place called Bear Island it seemed, and they were just as hardy as the men, if not more so.

As he approached the Command Tent he observed the two silent sentinels that stood guard. Both of them were members of a northern institution called the Weirwood Warriors and they terrified Jon. He had seen them in the practice yard and they were maelstroms of destruction, with not even Robert able to hold his own against the smallest of them. Furthermore each of them was accompanied by a fearsome wolf, and the higher ranking members often had other animals as well. He had seen all manner of animals accompany the warriors, from bears to eagles, from snakes to the shadowcats that could be found in the mountains of the moon.

Jon shivered as he passed between them, their eyes watching him from beneath their helms. He pulled open the tent and stepped inside. Assembled around a vast table were the commanders and leaders of the rebel host.

At the head of the table was Rickard Stark himself, covered in full dark grey plate armour and with his Valyrian Steel sword strapped over his shoulder. To his left was the man the northerners called Rodrick Walton, the Lord Commander of the Weirwood Warriors, and to his right was his son, Ned, a boy that Jon loved as if he was his own son. Next to Ned stood Robert, his antlered helm clasped in one hand, and his giant war hammer clasped in the other. Ever since the fight at Stoney Sept he had become more focused. He no longer laughed as much, and his eyes didn't twinkle as they once did. Jon's own retinue was next, composed of Bronze Yohn Royce and Lord Corbray. The riverlords made up the final portion of the command tent, composed of Hoster and Brynden Tully and Tytos Blackwood.

He took his place at the table between Bronze Yohn and Lord Corbray and Rickard nodded in acknowledgment of his presence.

"We have received word from inside the Red Keep." Rickard said as he stroked the White Raven that sat on his shoulder. "Rhaegar plans to meet us on the trident as we wanted."

"Good." Robert snarled as he clenched his fist around his hamer. "Just give me a shot at him and he'll fall."

Rickard glanced at the young lord but continued as though he hadn't interrupted. "He has 55000 men from Dorne and The Crownlands as well as the southern Riverlords and Northern Stormlands. On top of that, he's called for a further 20,000 men from the Mace Tyrell's host at Storm's End. They plan to meet just before they arrive at the Trident."

"We still outnumber them." Lord Hoster said, "and we have the advantage of having gotten to choose the battle ground."

"Your right." Rickard conceded, "But how many more men will we lose if we allow their host to converge?"

Hoster grunted in response before taking a swig of his ale. "So what do you suggest we do?" He asked.

"If I may make a suggestion," Rodrick Walton said as he leaned forward, "Send me and my men after the host. I'll ensure that they never reach Rhaegar and give you the opportunity to do as you please."

Rickard looked at him shrewdly. "Would you take all 3000 of your men?"

"Yes." Rodrick nodded. At this Lord Corbray burst out laughing. "You think you can take down a host of 20,000 men with only 3000?"

"Yes." Rodrick said, clearly unpertubed.

"You're crazy!" Lord Corbray exclaimed. "You'll be leading you're men to an early grave! Men we could better use here!"

Robert laughed darkly. "The only men heading to an early grave will be the Reachmen! I've seen these men fight and they fight like gods among mortals!"

Rodrick glanced at his liege lord, who was staring back at Rodrick deep in thought. "I assure My Lord, I will not fail you."

"I believe you." Rickard said. "Take your men and leave at first light. Take Ned with you."

"Me?" Ned asked.

"Yes Ned, you'll be going with him. The Weirwood Warriors are taught not to surrender. If it goes bad, they'll need someone to order them to leave."

At this Rodrick began to protest, but Rickard silenced him with a steely gaze.

Ned nodded and glanced at Jon. Jon smiled encouragingly. If he had to pick anyone to do the job, he would have picked Ned as well. He had a good head on his shoulders, and knew his way around a battlefield.

"Now," Rickard said as he turned to the doorway, "onto the next order of business. Wendel!"

At his name, a man appeared in the doorway, escorting a man who had been blindfolded, gagged and had his hands bound. He threw him forward onto the floor before turning back to Rickard, who nodded at him. "Thank you." He said, "Now bring me Connington and Bolton."

The man nodded and rushed away to do his bidding. Rickard stood up and slowly began to make his way down to the bound and gagged man, who had begun to squirm in terror.

"This man here," Rickard said as he made his way past Jon, "is a Targaryen spy we decided to let live. We have brought him here today so he can see what happens to those who stand in my way."

Rickard stopped before the man and looked down at him. He reached down and hauled him to his feet, before dragging him to the head of the table and sitting him down. He drew a knife from his belt and laid it on the man's throats. The man stiffened and began to breathe heavily. He swallowed and his adam's apple bobbed.

"My men have killed all the other spies, outriders and scouts sent to look for us, but this one we kept alive."

With that he swiftly moved the dagger up and cut the bindings around the man's eyes and mouth. The cloth fell away, and the man's widespread eyes followed the path of the knife as Rickard gently dragged it down the side of his face. Rickard smiled suddenly, and as quick as the knife had appeared it was gone.

He turned to the refreshment's table were wine and food was piled. He poured a cup of mead and filled a plate with roast beef and roasted vegetables before placing it in front of the captured spy.

"Eat!" He barked. "You'll need your strength."

The spy looked at the food suspiciously before shaking his head. "No." He said.

Rickard rolled his eyes. "You just watched me prepare it. There's no poison in it."

The man still refused so Rickard shrugged and took the food and wine for himself.

"What's your name?" Rickard asked as he chewed on the some of the roast beef.

"Clayton."

"Do you know who I am Clayton?"

Clayton nodded. "You're the one they call The Burnt Lord."

Rickard smiled thinly. "Aye. That I am. Do you know anyone else here?"

Clayton shifted his gaze to the rest of the table and nodded.

"Who do you know?" Rickard asked.

Clayton nodded to Robert. "The usurper." At this Robert scowled deeply.

"Anyone else?" Rickard asked before Robert could argue with the man.

"Ned Stark. Jon Arryn. Hoster Tully." Clayton replied as he nodded to each in turn.

Rickard made an attempt at smiling warmly, but on his burnt face it came out as more of a scowl. "Well let me introduce you to the rest of us. This is Bronze Yohn Royce, Lord of Runestone. Next to him is Lord Corbray, lord of Heart's Home. The two other riverlords are Brynden 'Blackfish' Tully and Lord Tytos Blackwood, lord of Raventree hall."

"And him?" Clayton asked as he nodded to Rodrick.

"That's Rodrick." Rickard said as he gulped down a mouthful of wine.

"Rodrick who?" He asked.

"He's just Rodrick to you." Rickard said with a steely voice and Clayton got the message.

The door opened again and Wendel re-entered, dragging along Jon Connington and followed by a pale skinned Leech Lord.

"Ah!" Rickard cried. "Just in time! Thank you Wendel!"

Wendel nodded and left the tent once more. Roose Bolton came forward and stood by Connington's side. Connington had been treated rather well, his only injury being a black eye he had gotten in the fight with Robert. Regardless he had been gagged. He knew things that Rickard clearly didn't want this man to know of. Rickard turned back to Clayton who was watching proceedings with a wide eyed stare. "Do you recognise these two?" He asked as he finished his last mouthful of beef.

Clayton nodded once more. "Lord Connington and… Lord Bolton."

"Good. Do you know what the Bolton's are famous for in the North?"

Clayton swallowed audibly, before nodding once more. "Flaying." He whispered.

Rickard nodded before getting back to his feet and gesturing for Lord Bolton to continue. The leech lord reached into his belt and pulled out two thin knives and a meat cleaver. Rickard dragged Connington over to the table and pushed his hands onto the table. Bolton raised his meat cleaver and swung it down.

Connington's littlest finger detached from his left hand. Conningotn screamed into his gag and his eyes watered in pain. Very quickly he fainted and Rickard snorted. "Weak man." He spat as he glared upon the griffin lords contorted face.

He picked up the finger and placed it a leather pouch before handing it to Clayton. Clayton took it with shaking hands. "I want you to deliver this to Rhaegar. Tell him with everyday that he does not show up, Connington shall lose another digit. He only has 19 days left before Connington runs out of spare digits. He had better hurry, because once he's out of digits I run out of patience." At this Rickard lowered his voice and leaned in towards Clayton. "You don't want to know what happens then. So hurry."

With that Rickard stood and called for Wendel. The man re-entered and bowed his head to his liege lord.

"Escort him to the Ivy Inn and let him go." Wendel nodded and made for the spy. Rickard turned away and stormed out of the tent.


	36. Chapter 36

In the courtyard of the Red Keep soldiers dressed in the red and black livery of house Targaryen rushed around, fulfilling last minute tasks before the host's departure. The host itself, a mass of men 55000 strong, was camped on the northern side of the city, at a constant state of alertness.

To begin with the army's commanders had sent the outriders north to scout out the enemy camp. Only one man had returned, spouting tales of the land itself fighting against them. Attacks by wolves, bears, eagles and men that seemed to melt out of the ground itself.

He had been captured he had said. According to his tales he had been blindfolded and taken to a tent where the commanders of the rebel host were. Present was Lord Rickard Stark his son Eddard, along with Jon Arryn, the usurper Robert Baratheon, Lord Tytos Blackwood, Hoster and Brynden Tully, Lord's Corbray and Royce and the most mysterious of them all, a man that the outrider was told only went by the name of Roderick. Varys had been in a panic trying to find out as much as he could about the man, but if his increasingly frantic state had anything to say of the state of his investigation it was not going well.

The most horrifying thing the man had told stories of though was the finger he had carted back in a little leather pouch, that he said had been placed into his hands by Rickard Stark himself. He had said that it belonged to Jon Connington, and it had been taken from him in front of his eyes, by none other than Roose Bolton, the leech lord himself.

The most chilling thing about the whole affair though was the promise of more fingers to come if Rhaegar did not hurry up and come to the Trident, and thus, the reason for the state of affairs on this particular day. Rhaegar must have cared for Jon deeply to be in this much of a rush, because he was setting off without a proper baggage train, only taking the bare necessities to get him to the trident.

According to Rhaegar once he had defeated the rebels, he would be able to take their stores. Rickard's actions against Jon Connington seemed to have lit a fire within Rhaegar. He had stormed around the keep all morning, bellowing for this and that, and in the end only getting in the way. Jamie had even caught him cursing Rickard Stark, and swearing to have his head regardless of Lyanna's wishes. It was the first time that Jamie had even heard Rhaegar acknowledge that he knew where the girl was. Rickard Stark had clearly angered the otherwise quiet man. In Jamie's opinion, it meant that Rhaegar was rushing into the battle unprepared, which was part of the reason why Jamie so desperately wanted to go.

Thinking of Rickard Stark sent a shiver down Jamie's spine. He could still remember those steely grey eyes glaring at Aerys as a certain Stark was forced to his knees. He could still remember the disconcerting feeling of seeing those same steely grey eyes staring at him out of that Raven's head. In truth no man terrified Jamie more, not even Aerys, nor his own father.

Not just any man could survive burning by wildfire, and then not only recover, but recover enough to lead armies against those who burned him. Not just any man could crush entire hosts without any surivors. Not just any man could commit the atrocities that Rickard Stark had committed in his path to vengeance and still sleep at night.

Rhaegar walked out of the Red Keep now, towards his fine coal black stallion and Jamie knew it was now or never. He rushed forward, making to intercept the prince before he could mount his stallion.

"Prince Rhaegar!" He called as he approached the silver prince. Rhaegar's eyes switched to observe the young Kingsguard marching towards him. "Ser Jamie." Rhaegar greeted as he nodded his head at him. "What can I do for you?"

"I want to come with you." Jamie announced with a thundering heart. Rhaegar smiled sadly. "We both know that's not possible. A Kingsguard needs to be here to protect the remaining royal family."

"Please Rhaegar!" Jamie begged, forgetting all sense of decorum in his desperateness. Rhaegar looked down upon Jamie with pity.

Prince Rhaegar shook his head. "My royal sire fears your father more than he does our cousin Robert. He wants you close, so Lord Tywin cannot harm him. I dare not take that crutch away from him at such an hour."

Jaime's anger had risen up in his throat. "I am not a crutch. I am a knight of the Kingsguard."

Rhaegar had put his hand on Jaime's shoulder. "When this battle's done I mean to call a council. Changes will be made. I meant to do it long ago, but... well, it does no good to speak of roads not taken. We shall talk when I return."

He strode away and mounted his horse. "Varys!" He bellowed as the master of whispers entered the courtyard.

Varys hurried over, his slipper clad feet making a scuffing sound on the red stone floor. "My Prince." He simpered as he bowed low.

"What can you tell me of this Roderick fellow?" Rhaegar snapped.

"Not much." Varys replied. "My little birds have found out about a place called Starpoint, a northern military installation. I do not know much about it, but it is possible that this Roderick fellow is the leader of whatever troops come from this place."

Rhaegar nodded. "And what can you tell me of the troops themselves? The ones that are commanded by this Roderick fellow?"

"Nothing." Varys stated. "I could find nothing. As such treat them as killers of the highest order. If not even I can find out about them, they are either so bad it is below my notice, or they are so good they know how to evade my spies, and when taking recent events into consideration, I am personally led to believe it is the latter."

Rhaegar nodded before slamming down his helm. "If your little birds send any more word of these troops, or have any information worth knowing send it on."

Varys bowed low once more. "Of course."

With that Rhaegar spurred his horse and charged out of the Red Keep's gate, his retinue following in his wake.

Jamie watched from the battlements as Rhaegar made his way through the city. Outside the city walls Rhaegar's host had packed up and assembled into a long winding column. As Rhaegar joined them, the horns blew and slowly the great winding mass began to move.

He stood there for the next few hours, as the sun rose in the sky and the column disappeared over the horizon, heading to battle, and ultimately death or glory.


	37. Chapter 37

Davos guided his boat into the now familiar cove, his black sails keeping him hidden from the eyes behind him. Not that they were watching of course. They were too busy fighting off the northern fleet. After that disastrous first night, Beron had changed many things about the way the northern fleet attacked the Redwyne fleet.

His ships also went in with black sails and all lights shuttered. It allowed his ships to get much closer without begin spotted, and gave the Reachmen less time to prepare. This had allowed the northerners to get away with much lower losses. Last night they had only lost one ship, compared to the Redwyne's seven. They had been at it for two weeks now, and Storm's End's larders were almost filled, and their garrison almost completely relieved.

The Redwyne fleet was on the verge of breaking. They had lost more than half of their ships, compared to the northerners only losing a quarter of theirs. Northern losses were getting lower and lower, while Redwyne defeats were getting more and more costly. On land, Mace Tyrell had finally decided to do something, most proablbly at Paxtor Redwyne's urging.

He had assaulted the castle three times now, but each time he was easily rebuffed by the now well fed defenders.

It certainlty didn't help that his most able commander, Randyll Tarly had left a week ago with almost half of Mace's host. Beron had told him that they had gone to help Rhaegar put down Rickard Stark's forces in the Riverlands.

Apparently Lord Stark had managed to defeat a host belonging to Jon Connington, and as such, Rhaegar's troop numbers were more depleted than he would have liked. Therefore, the reason behind the sudden troop movement.

Davos pulled up alongside the pier and quickly threw his mooring ropes to the men who waited for him. They caught them and tied his boat to the pier, allowing the soldiers he carried to disembark. Almost immediately more men appeared down the stairs and began to quickly unload the boat.

It was a well-practiced routine by now, and tonight would be the last time he undertook such a routine. It was with a tinge of sadness that overtook him as he watched the last crate of food be unloaded. He went to untie the moring ropes when he was stopped by one of Stannis's men. "Lord Stannis wants to speak you."

Davos nodded and followed the man up the staircase and into the castle proper. Even though he had been carting men and food into the castle for the last two weeks, this was the first time that he had actually been into the castle itself.

The man escorted him through the hallways, up a winding staircase and into a large room that overlooked the bay. Standing next to the window, and looking out at the ensuing battle between the northmen and the reachmen was Stannis himself. He was not as guant as he had been when Davos had first seen him two weeks ago, but he was still far from a healthy weight. His eyes still shone with an iron will though, though this time Davos saw it was more softened that it had been.

"Davos the smuggler, Lord Stannis." His escort announced as he pushed him into the room.

"Thank you." Stannis said. "That will be all."

His escort nodded, bowed in deference and left the room, shutting the door behind him. Stannis gestured for Davos to join him at the window and Davos wandered over to stand next to him.

Together they watched as the Northern fleet continued to pummel the Redwyne fleet. Davos could see three ships that were on fire, and the floating ruins of another three more. As he watched, the whale beached itself upon another ship, causing it to collapse inwards onitself. Even with the howl of the wind whistliong around them, Davos could still hear the faint screams of the sailors who were floundering in the deep water.

"Do you know how frustrating it is to watch this Davos?"

Davos looked at Stannis, who continued to watch the battle impassively. "Frustrating?" Davos asked. "I thought you would find it relieving."

"Many would. But not me. All I can see is my own failure. I could not even hold these walls by myself. Instead I needed a northern saviour, like Robert did at Stoney Sept."

"You have held these walls though."

Stannis scoffed. "I have. Will anyone else attribute it to me though? Of course not!" He all but spat. "Instead Robert will give the credit to Ned Stark and his admiral!"

Davos remained quiet, unsure of what to say to the lord.

"I've held these walls for almost a year now. I've eaten my horses, dogs, cats and rats. I've watched as my own brother," Here Stannis's voice caught, "became to weak to lift himself out of bed! A boy of four! How do you explain to a boy of four that the pain in his stomach won't go away because we have no more food! I starved myself to the brink of death to feed my brother and all the while Mace Tyrell and his lords feasted within sight of my walls, taunting my men and breaking their already broken spirits even more. And now, because of this my thanks will amount to nothing."

"What does it matter?" Davos asked.

Stannis frowned at him. "Excuse me?"

"Did you do it for the thanks you were going to receive?"

"No."

"Did you do it for glory?"

"No."

"Why did you do it?"

"Because my brother asked."

"So why does it matter? You did as asked, you fulfilled your duty and did it well until you could be relieved. You did it without expectation of thanks. So why does it matter?"

"I did it with the expectation of death."

"Then why are you complaining. Not only are you still alive, but the rebels are winning the war. Surely that is reward enough, particularly if your previous expectations were death."

Stannis grunted before turning back to the window. "Perhaps your right."

Both continued to watch the battle for a moment. "I have on offer for you."

"Yes?" Davos asked.

"I will make you a landed knight in my service, granting you a name and a keep. I will take your sons for squires, and promise to provide your other sons the opportunity to distinguish themselves in my service, and perhaps in their own time, earn lands and a name of their own."

Davos swallowed. Beron had pretty much offered him the same thing. To refuse one would offend the other, and the last thing that Davos wanted was a lord he liked angry at him.

"There is a condition though." Stannis said as he turned away from the window and went to pour himself a glass of water.

"What might that condition be?"

"One good act does not absolve you of your crimes. For your crimes as a smuggler, I will take the tops of your fingers, from the first knuckle."

Davos stared at Stannis in disbelief. This made the decision much easier.

Davos started laughing then causing Stannis to scowl at him. "Why do you throw my gift in my face?" Stannis asked through clenched teeth.

"Why would I accept your offer when I've received the same offer from Beron Saltstark, minus the missing fingers?" Davos asked.

Stannis ground his teeth together, before snorting. "Bloody Starks." He muttered. "Go then." He said in a harsh voice. "Go then and convince yourself you're an honourable man."

Davos frowned at Stannis. "I'm under no delusions as to what I am Lord Stannis. I'm a smuggler from Fleabottom who has spent more time being chased by the authorities than I care to count. I know I'm no honourable man."

"Then know you are a coward and a weak man too." Stannis replied.

"Yea I am." Davos replied. "It's what's kept me alive all these years."

Stannis didn't respond. He just sat there brooding as he continued to watch the battle. Davos turned to go, thinking he was dismissed when Stannis stopped him by clearing his throat. Davos turned back to him.

"You're a good man Davos." Stannis said and then he turned around, back to the window, clearly dismissing him this time. Davos stayed though, torn on the inside.

In many ways Davos admired Stannis. He was all a good lord should be. Just, honest, honourable and with an unwavering sense of duty.

Suddenly Davos strode over to Stannis and drew his knife. He slammed it on the table in front of him. Stannis switched his iron gaze back to Davos. Davos placed his hand on the table.

"If you're going to take my fingers, take them now, and swing the blade yourself."

Stannis picked the blade up and twirled it between his fingers. He looked deep into Davos's eyes and Davos got the impression that he was searching his soul. He nodded once, as though satisfied with what he had seen, before gripping the knife properly and slamming it down.

The knife rose and fell four more times and soon the fingers on Davos's left hand were missing the first knuckle. Stannis stood, the bloody knife still clutched in his hand. Davos looked down at the mangled remnants of his fingers and sighed. What had he agreed to this for?

The pain, which hadn't been that bad as the knife was biting through was now searing. He stumbled away from the table and his vision began to blur.

"Maester!" He heard someone call. "Get the maester!"

After that he didn't know what happened because he had fainted.


	38. Chapter 38

When Davos came to, the first thing he saw was Beron Saltstark in the middle of a yelling match with Stannis Baratheon.

Losing his brothers had changed Beron. No longer was he the jovial, japing fool that Davos had met in Fleabottom on that fateful night more than a month ago. He was harsher now, stern, unyielding and with an iron sense of purpose. In short, he had become the Stannis Baratheon of the North. Wether or not this character change would survive the test of time, only the gods knew.

His character change however was leading to a very heated argument at the end of Davos bed.

"He was my man!" Beron yelled. "You had no right to do what you did!"

"I had every right!" Stannis yelled back. "He was a smuggler! Just because he saved my garrison it doesn't mean his past crimes were absolved!"

"No it doesn't, but surely it more than provides a just reason to give him a pardon!"

"I was giving him a reward!"

"Reward?" Beron scoffed, "What reward entails losing the tops of your fingers?"

"A just one!" Stannis insisted.

Beron clenched his jaw. "No wonder people prefer your brother!" He muttered.

"What did you say?" Stannis asked as his hand drifted to the sword at his side.

"I said that it is no wonder that people prefer your brother! Yes a lord should be just! But he should also be compassionate! What do you think would have happened if Robert had of used your version of justice on the three lords that opposed him at Summerhall?"

"He would be less three men of questionable loyalty!" Stannis retorted.

Beron just shook his head and turned to Davos. His eye's widened when he saw he was awake and he rushed to his side. "Davos!" He exclaimed. He reached to the table next to Davos's head and grabbed a cup of water. He placed it near his lips and Davos drank deeply.

"Beron?" He asked. "What are you doing here?"

At this Beron scowled before glaring at Stannis. "Trying to protect you from Lords who have no idea on the concept of compassion."

Stannis turned his nose up at this, as if the idea was too disgusting to even contemplate.

"I asked him to." Davos said as he sat up straighter.

"I heard." Beron replied. "What madness possessed you?"

"He called me a coward and weak in one sentence, and then in the next said I was a good man. I knew good men weren't cowards or weak so I had to make a choice between being a coward or begin a good man. I chose to be a good man."

Beron's gaze softened. "You always were a good man."

Davos smiled then. "Even when you were chasing me across the bite?"

Beron didn't return the smile, gods he had become grim, but a familiar twinkle lit his eyes up. "Even then."

"No you weren't." Stannis said. "You were a smuggler."

Beron scowled at him. "He was a good smuggler. He was also a man. Therefore he was a good man."

"All I ever wanted was to do the right thing by my boys." Davos said as he looked out the window. Strangely the Redwyne fleet was gone. "Where's the Redwyne fleet?" Davos asked.

"Gone." Beron said. "Last night was their most costly. My fleet is currently pursuing down the coast."

"Why aren't you with them then?"

"My smuggler went missing and I went to look for him."

Stannis scowled at Beron. "He's not your smuggler. He agreed to serve me."

Beron turned to Davos with a frown. "Did you?"

Davos winced. "Actually I did not."

Stannis frowned at him. "I offered you a position under me on the condition you paid the price for your crimes. You paid the price and I honour my oaths."

"I did lose my fingers, but not on the expectation of receiving a lordship from you. I always intended to follow Beron."

"Why?" Stannis asked.

"Beron needs me more. Not to say that you don't, gods you can brood like the rest of them, but I know that Beron needs my advice and support more than you do."

Stannis shook his head. "No," He said impatiently, "Why did you let me take your fingers without the intention of taking my reward."

Davos stared at him. "As I said before, I can't be a good and weak man, so I chose to be good."

Stannis's frown deepened. "Why him? What do I have that makes me less worthy of your service?"

"Living brothers." Davos replied. Stannis turned away darkly and stormed out of the door, the tension leaving with him. Almost immediately Beron enveloped Davos in a bear hug.

"I'm so sorry!" Beron exclaimed.

"Sorry?" Davos asked, "Sorry for what?"

"For letting him take your fingers."

Davos patted Beron on the back. "Don't worry about it. I had the opportunity to walk away but I chose not to."

"You didn't deserve it."

"Maybe not, but it's done now. There is no use crying over it."

Beron pulled away and looked him in the eyes. "I swear I will see you rewarded for this."

Davos smiled at the younger man. "That would be nice." He joked.

Beron reached to the table next to him and handed him a pouch. He grabbed it from Beron's hand.

"What's this?" He asked as he opened it.

"Your finger bones." Beron replied, as Davos spilled the contents of the pouch into his palm. Five white knucklebones shined in the sunlight. Davos looked at them for a while before placing them back in the pouch and hanging it around his neck. "For luck." He explained when Beron threw him a strange look.

Beron nodded and got up. "When do you want to leave?"

"Can we go now?" Davos asked.

"Cant see why not." Beron replied.

"Good," Davos replied. "help me out of bed."

Beron nodded and assisted Davos from the bed before walking to the door. "I'll meet you in the cove. I've just to get some things before we go."

Davos nodded. "I'm going to go speak to Stannis."

Beron nodded and left. Davos threw on a shirt, and pulled on his soft leather boots before leaving the room behind. He asked a passing soldier where Stannis could be found and he was directed to the same chamber where he lost his fingers.

Stannis glanced at him when he entered the room but otherwise said nothing. After a moment of standing there, Davos cleared his throat. Stannis still ignored him, so Davos cleared his throat again.

"Did losing your fingers cause you to get a sore throat?" Stannis asked.

"No." Davos replied.

"Then why are you making that horrible noise?"

Davos paused, unsure of how to respond. Stannis sighed, clearly taking pity on him.

"What do you want?" He said in an aggrieved tone.

"To thank you?"

"Thank me?"

"Yes."

"Consider it done. You can leave now."

Davos walked further into the room until he was standing next to Stannis.

"I go to serve my lord now." Davos said.

"I know."

"I want to give you something." Davos said as he reached for the pouch around his neck. He reached in and pulled out a single bone. He handed it to Stannis who took it wordlessly. "If you ever have need of me, you need only send that. I will serve you until I consider you to no longer need my advice."

Stannis nodded and placed the knucklebone on the table. "If I ever have need of you, I will call."

"Some last advice Stannis. Don't focus on what you don't have. Focus on what you do have and be thankful. Many a man won't sleep with a roof over his head tonight. Many a man will go to bed with an empty stomach. Many a man doesn't have two legs, two arms and five fingers and toes on each."

Stannis nodded before going back to staring out the window. Davos left and made his way down to the cove where Beron was waiting for him. "I was getting worried you had changed your mind." He said when Davos finally emerged.

"As I said you have more need of me for now."

"For now?"

"I gave him a knucklebone. When the time comes I will come to serve him."

Beron nodded gravely. "Just make sure he doesn't take any other part of you."

"He shouldn't have a reason to unless you dishonour your oaths."

"What would you do if I didn't give you a lordship?"

"Tell everyone how I got through the Wolf's Maw."

Beron smiled then, truly smiled, like Davos hadn't seen since the night he had lost his brothers. "Don't tempt me," He said, "I still want to know how you did that. Though to be fair, when I'm your lord I can command you to tell me and you will have too."

"By then I will have forgotten!" Davos retorted with a grin. Beron grinned back and Davos saw the first signs of the return of the young man that Beron had been, and not the stern, grim man he had become.


	39. Chapter 39

The doors of the throne room swung open with a boom to reveal Wisdom's Rossart, Garigus and Belis, all men who were members of the alchemist's guild. The alchemist's guild was responsible for the production of wildfire, and as such Aerys treated these men as honoured guests.

Servants stepped forth to offer them the finest wines within the cellars of the Red Keep. Another servant held a platter holding exotic foods from far across the narrow sea. The three men ate and drunk like Kings, while Aerys regaled them with stories of his wildfire burnings.

Jamie stood in the back ground, a silent sentinel, watching over all. The only other man in the room who was not either a servant or a pyromancer was the new Hand of the King, Qarlton Chelstead. Jamie liked the man, even if at times he could be too eager to please for Jamie's liking.

Without Qarlton Chelstead the last of Brandon Stark's retinue would be dead. Lord Chelstead had beseeched Aerys to spare the boy's life. His name was Ethan Glover and he had been Brandon Stark's squire. Aerys had agreed to spare him, but he was constantly guarded by at least 10 men, and kept chained to the wall of his cell by both his hands and feet. Aerys feared that he would go the same way of Brandon Stark and turn into a monster that would haunt the Red Keep.

That day still haunted Jamie at night, and he doubted it would ever leave him alone. All he could ever see when he closed his eyes was steely grey eyes, staring at him with utter loathing. All he could smell was roasting flesh, and all he could hear was the cackling of the Mad King.

Focusing his attention back on the king, he listened as he explained what he had brought the Pyromancers here for.

"House Targaryen used to have an unrivalled power. We had dragons! None could stand against us! Then because of the actions of spies and assassins our great dragons were brought low. We have tried to bring them back all to no avail! I have used my genius however to find out how to bring them back!"

"How will you bring them back My King?" Rossart asked with a querying glance at the king. Aerys smiled triumphantly. "With fire and blood!" he declared dramatically.

"Do tell me your plan." Rossart said. "I am most interested."

"The secret my lords, I am convinced lies in wildfire."

"Didn't Aerion Brightflame already try that?" Chelstead asked with a frown.

"He did. But not in the right amounts."

"Not in the right amounts? What do you mean?"

"I will burn the entire city!" Aerys declared and Jamie's heart stopped in his chest.

"The entire city!" Chelstead exclaimed. "That is madness! How would you even do such a thing?"

Aerys expression hardened, and a dangerous glint entered his eyes. "Wildfire caches all over the city. If the rebels win, and Rhaegar loses, as he is wont to do, I will blow up the city when they enter. They will be the kings of nothing but dust and ashes. I will destroy their armies in one fell swoop, and in the process I will become a dragon!"

Qarlton gaped at the king. "No!" He yelled. "I will not stand for this madness! I have stood by long enough!" With that he reached up and ripped the badge of hand of the king off his chest and threw it on the floor. "I stood by and watched as you murdered innocent men! I will not stand by and watch as you destroy an entire city and massacre it's innocent masses!"

Qarlton turned to go but Aerys reached out and snagged his arm. Qarlton yanked his arm away and continued to leave. "Ser Jamie!" Aerys called.

Jamie stepped forward, his heart in his throat as he awaited his commands. "Apprehend Lord Chelstead." Aerys said, confirming his worst fears. Jamie drew his sword and advanced down the hall on the lord, who turned and stood there defiant.

"Come on Ser Jamie!" He mocked. "Show us all how much your knightly oaths mean to you! Stand by and watch as he murders innocents!"

Jamie grasped him by the arm and pulled him back to the King. Aerys glared at Qarlton before turning to Rossart. "Do you have any wildfire?" He asked, his eyes glinting in that way that meant he was getting aroused.

Gods no, Jamie thought as he continued to hold Qarlton's arm. Please no.

"I do." Rossart said as he reached into his voluminous cloak and pulled out a small jar. With some measure of satisfaction, Jamie noticed the small scars that still lingered from where the White Raven had attacked him.

"Burn him!" Aerys commanded as he looked on Qarlton coldly.

Rossart nodded and began to tie Qarlton up. Qarlton continued to stand impassive, silently switching his cold gaze between Rossart and Jamie.

"Oathbreaker." Qarlton snarled at him as he finally let go of his arm. "Oathbreaker!" He almost yelled as Jamie stepped away.

Rossart threw the green liquid at Qarlton's feet, before lighting it on fire. The green flames crept up his legs, consuming. Behind him, he could hear Aerys cackling in laughter. Qarlton continued to glare at him, and impressively managed to remain silent for a much longer time than Rickard Stark had. Then he could not hold it in and screamed louder than Jamie thought possible. His cries echoed around the cavernous throne room, and the smell of roasting meat filled Jamie's nostrils once more.

He looked away from the horrible sight and shifted his gaze up to the rafters. To his great surprise the White Raven sat there, watching down on the proceedings. It was not laughing this time, instead, if it was possible it looked sort of sad.

It noticed his gaze, and tilted its head. Jamie watched it, but didn't say a word. That bird had delivered the news of The White Eye. Hopefully The White Eye would kill Aerys before Jamie had to take action himself.

He nodded at the bird, and it seemed to be amused. It stretched its wings and did a horrible imitation of a bow, before hopping forward and soaring out of an open window.

Qarlton's screams had finally died down and Jamie switched his gaze back to the smoking charred corpse. Qarlton's last words were still ringing in his ears. Oathbreaker. Oathbreaker. Oathbreaker.

What happens though when your oaths contradict one another? How do you protect your king and the innocents? How do you pick between your king and the innocents?

Please, Jamie prayed, please let the White Eye come soon.


	40. Chapter 40

Rickard Stark breathed in deeply, enjoying the feel of the fresh night air in his nostrils. It was one part of his body that wasn't affected by the horrible burns that covered him, and as such his feeling within his nose was still perfectly fine.

Behind him he heard footsteps and he turned to see Rickard Karstark standing there, his big bushy beard covering much of his face. "They're ready for you now."

Rickard nodded in response and took another deep breath, before turning and following Rickard down the hill and into the tent filled with the Northern lords.

Many a familiar face stared back at him as Rickard took his spot at the head of the table.

"My Lords," Rickard began, "Many a night I have lain awake wondering how to strike back at house Targaryen for their crimes against me and my family."

The crowd rumbled in assent, Rickard's burnt face providing a stark reminder of just what 'crimes' Rickard was referring to.

"And many a night I have come up with nothing for all my efforts of searching. Tell me now my lords, what punishment befits house Targaryen for what they have done?"

The Greatjon surged to his feet. "We'll kill them all and piss on their graves! That's insult enough for me!"

His declaration was met with some rumbles of assent, but a few lords, most notably Roose Bolton, looked slightly perturbed, as though it was not punishment enough, a view with which Rickard was inclined to agree.

"Insult enough for you perhaps," Rickard said in an aggrieved tone, "but I lost a son to those inbred bastards. I promised Aerys that I would make a monument to last the ages. One that would make all dread drawing the direwolf's wrath. I am a man of honour and I intend to honour my promise!"

Rickard's declaration was met with a roar of assent, and Rickard allowed himself a small smile. It seemed his lords were being brought around to a more grandiose idea of vengeance.

"What about melting down the iron throne and turning it into swords for northerners?!" One man suggested.

"What about tearing the Red Keep to the ground?"

"What about destroying Dragonstone!"

"My Lords!" Rickard yelled over the din, "These ideas are all well and good, but unfeasible. We cannot melt down the throne that Robert intends to sit on. We cannot tear down the keep that Robert intends to live in! We cannot destroy Dragonstone without Robert's consent!"

"Fuck Robert!" Someone yelled in the back of the room and Rickard supressed a grin while his lords jeered and laughed.

"Burn the Mad King with wildfire!"

Rickard smiled. This was getting more like it!

"No! No! No!" Another lord cried. "I've got it! Let's sacrifice them to the Weirwoods! Let's treat them like any other common criminal! That will be insult enough! It'll say that they are below us!"

This declaration was met with the loudest cheer of assent yet. Rickard looked to the shadows and caught the Crannogman's eyes before nodding barely perceptibly. It was time.

The Crannogman stepped out of the shadows and into the light. "My Lords!" He yelled in a voice that belied his size. Immediately the lords quietened and turned to the small Crannogman who stepped forward to take his place at the table.

"We must thank the gods for whatever they give us, whether it be victory or defeat. At the same time we must build a monument to last the ages. A monument that both warns the world of drawing the Direwolf's wrath and insults the Targaryens."

"Do you have a suggestion or are you just going to keep telling us what we should do?" The Greatjon bellowed.

The Crannogman smiled at the giant lord coldly. "Of course I have a plan." He snarled. "I wouldn't have stepped forth if I didn't."

The Crannogman turned to Rickard and threw him an awry smile. "You see My Lords, the Crannogmen are the guardians of the old knowledge. We have knowledge of a certain ritual that will fulfil all the requirements of our revenge…"

The Crannagoman continued to explain and he saw his lord's faces change from annoyed to awed horror. As he perused the lords he noticed one wasn't watching the Crannogman and was instead watching him. He caught Roose Bolton's pale lifeless eyes, and the ghost of a smile drifted across the leech lord's face before he nodded slightly.

The words passed unspoken between them. Well played.

Rickard nodded back, before switching his gaze back to the Crannogman.

The room was silent for a minute when he had finished. Each lord just continued to look a mixture of awed and horrified beyond measure.

The Greatjon stirred and Rickard leant forward. Now was the moment of truth. Now was when he found out if he had succeeded.

"Well" Greatjon said as he swallowed thickly. "Remind me never to piss you off." Then he burst into a savage grin. "That is the greatest insult, monument and honour of all."

Rickard smiled.

Well played indeed.


	41. Chapter 41

Eddard Stark thundered along the Kingsroad, Rodrick Walton riding beside him and the Weirwood Warriors following behind him in a column of riders four men wide. They had passed the God's Eye earlier that morning, and Rodrick had informed him that Randyll Tarly's host was three days march down the King's Road.

One of the outriders that Rodrick had sent out was coming riding up the King's Road. Rodrick held up his hand, and his White Hart stopped. The bond between the two was uncanny. Behind them the warriors did the same.

The outrider reined his horse to a stop in front of Rodrick and jumped from the saddle, dropping to his knees.

"Lord Stark, Lord Commander." The man greeted without even pausing to catch his breath.

"Rise man." Rodrick said as he waved his hand. "Tell me what you have come for."

"I have found the spot you were looking for."

"Good. Where is it?"

"10 miles west from here."

Rodrick nodded and turned to Ned. "Your commands?" He asked.

Ned furrowed his brow and tried to envision the movement of troops within his mind's eye. When he felt he had a firm idea of how Randyll Tarly would react he nodded.

"Split the host in two." He said. "You'll take 1000 men down to drive his host to where we want to meet him. Do not directly engage. Just keep pushing him to our battlefield. I'll take the other two thousand and set up on the crest in preparation for him."

Rodrick nodded and turned his hart around to relay Ned's orders to the troops. Ned watched as a third of the host continued on, while the other turned their mounts to the woods to the west.

Rodrick, having finished relaying his instructions, returned to where Ned sat upon his horse. He was accompanied by a man with large, beefy arms and a large war hammer swung across his back. At the man's side were two swords, one of which Ned noted with interest seemed to be newly made.

"Lord Stark!" Rodrick called as he dismounted his Hart and took one of the man's swords. Ned followed his movements with his eyes. Rodrick turned around and strode to Ned. "If you are to lead the Weirwood Warriors in battle, you are in need of a blade worthy of the Weirwood Warriors. Here." He said as he held out his outstretched hands.

The scabbard while beautiful, was also quite plain. It was comprised of Weirwood and white leather. Capping the top and bottom of the scabbard was a bronze filigree. The handle was of the blade was also wrapped in white leather, but apart from that it had no other distinguishing features.

Ned shook his head. "While I appreciate the offer Lord Commander, I already have a trusted blade that has seen me through. It might not be as pretty, but it is just as deadly."

The large man glowered at him. "Are you saying your common sword is as good as the one I forged for you?"

Ned shook his head. "I'm just saying I already have a blade. I don't need another."

Rodrick rolled his eyes and shoved the sword into his lap. "Draw it."

Ned pulled the sword from the scabbard and his eyes almost popped out of his head. The blade was made of Starsteel, the same metal that Rodrick's Harbinger, and Arthur Dayne's Dawn, was made of.

"Were di you get the materiels?" Ned asked as he inspected the blade in awe.

The big man rolled his eyes. "Well it's not called Mount Starpoint for nothing."

"You mean there's starsteel at Mount Starpoint! How come no one else knows?" Ned exclaimed.

"It's our greatest kept secret. It's partly the reason why we were formed, to protect the starsteel from thieves and Targaryens."

Ned inspected the blade once more, before sighing and putting it back in it's scabbard. He held it out for Rodrick to take. "Give the blade to someone who knows how to use it. Surely you have better swordsmen than me in your ranks. It would be a deadlier weapon in their hands."

Rodrick nodded. "It most probably would. The only problem is that they can only wield one sword at a time."

Ned's mouth dropped open. "You mean…"

Rodrick nodded. "Every man in the Weirwood Warriors is armed with a Starsteel blade. Do you understand now why you must accept this sword? You cannot have a commander with worse arms than his men."

Ned nodded and took the sword back, before strapping it to his side. It's weight was a reassuring comfort at his side. "Does it have a name?" He asked.

Rodrick turned to the large man who said he was the smith. "Of course it does. All the best swords have names."

"What is its name?" Ned asked as he admired the fine weapon.

"Snowfall." The large man said, before turning and spurring his horse the other way.

"Keep good care of the blade, Lord Stark. It is one of the finest blades he has ever made."

Ned nodded, still numb at the thought of owning a sword made of the same material as Dawn.

"I'll see you in a few days." Rodrick said as he tapped his Hart. It spurred forward, pursuing the rapidly disappearing line of men down the King's Road, towards battle with the Reachmen's host.

Far in front of them, pressed deep against the waters of the God's Eye were the remnants of Randyll Tarly's host. Rodrick had gone far and above in his actions, and had managed to wipe out almost a quarter of Tarly's men, some five thousand men.

The remaning fifteen thousand were arrayed against him now. Pikes down, shield's held in front prepared for the cavalry charge that they no doubt thought Ned and his men would field. Ned turned to the large man who had forged his sword, whose name Ned had learned was Cregan.

"Bows." Ned said, and Cregan yelled Ned's orders down the line. As one, his host of 2000 men pulled their Weirwood bows from their saddles and fitted them with arrows. As one, they raised their bows, and as one they released their stirngs, causing the air to fill with a rain of steel.

As one, his men nocked another arrow and let it loose. They filled the air with another three flights of arrows before the first had even hit the ground. The attack devastated the front lines of Tarly's men. Some 8000 arrows smashed into them, all in rapid succession.

The front lines were utterly broken, the pikes on the floor, the shields raised over their heads to protect from the rain of arrows that fell upon them.

Ned nodded again to Cregan who roared for another flight of arrows. Another four flights of arrows filled the air, and it fell upon Tarly's troops again. The arrows had decimated the front of Tarly's men. Many a man wasn't moving, and Ned saw with a small level of satisfaction that the injured and dead were a sizeable chunk of Tarly's host.

Tarly himself Ned could see rapidly ordering his men to get into a formation that would allow them to combat the deadly rain of arrows that fell upon them.

Ned held up a hand and the rain of arrows ceased. Tarly took full advantage of the reprieve and sorted his men into a formation to combat the rain of arrows that fell upon them. While the middle and back of the host managed to get into a largely defendable position, the front was utterly decimated and struggled to even form a shiledwall.

It was time.

Ned drew his sword and whirled it over his head, the Starsteel catching the glare of the late afternoon sun. "Wintefell!" He roared as he spurred his horse forward.

"Winterfell!" His two thousand roared as they spurred their mounts forward as well. The host thundred down the hill and towards Tarly's line. The men were panicking, and more than one had thrown down his amrs and fled into the lake.

Ned watched as the wolves of the Weirwood Warriors bounded ahead of the mass of charging horseman and crashed into what remained of the front lines. Then Ned was amongst them himself, his new sword flashing down to take a spearman's head from his shoulders.

Ned sensed danger behind him and instinctively twisted his body. A spearhead filled the space where his torso had been seconds before, and he quickly slashed at the spearhead. His sword cut through the wooden shaft like paper, and Ned turned his horse to face a man who was left holding a useless wooden shaft.

To his credit, the man just threw the shaft aside and rushed at him fists bared, but his fists were no match for the terribly glory of Ned's new blade.

Ned spurred his horse after another spearman, and the horse slipped on the muddied, bloodied field, before regaining its footing and charging after the man. He didn't reach it in time however, and instead it was taken down by a grey wolf, who just about tore the man's head off.

Around him the Weirwood Warriors had utterly wiped out the front line to the last man. The middle host had managed to reorganise itself for a charge against them. He heard a horn blow, and the second host lowered their spears and started marching forward.

"REFORM!" Ned roared as he spurred his horse a safe distance away. "REFORM!"

The call was echoed amongst his men and they fled to the crest where Ned sat. They quickly reformed their lines and got ready for another charge.

"Bows!" Ned roared, and as one his men repeated the deadly performance of a few minutes earlier that had so devastated their enemy's front line.

More men fell, though the effect wasn't as bad as it had been earlier. Ned noticed a flash of bronze in the woods to the north of Tarly's host.

Ned strained his eyes and suddenly a White Hart burst forth from the treeline, carrying the Lord Commander of the Weirwood Warriors. The whole treeline quivered and then exploded as another line of horsemen, one thousand strong came bearing down on the side of Tarly's host.

As they rode, they shot their bows with deadly accuracy, dropping men along the side of the host. The host shuffled and split, clearly unsure of how to respond to this new threat.

Ned heard Rodrick bellow a wordless war cry that his men echoed. He drew his sword and spun it over his head as he approached the enemy line. His Hart crashed into the line with a force that threw men high into the air. The Hart's wide horns swept back and forth, throwing men left and right and creating a chaos and destruction Ned didn't know such beasts were capable of.

"Charge!" Ned roared and his reformed line thundered down the hill and back into the fray.

It was nothing short of slaughter. The Weirwood Warriors were a class above any warrior that Ned had seen and the men that Tarly had brought were the Knights of Summer, used to Tourneys and sparring one on one.

The Weirwood Warriors were born and trained killers. The peasants, sworn swords and hedge knights that Tarly had brought with him stood no chance.

Ned had yet to see the body of Weirwood Warrior upon the ground, but Tarly's men were already broken.

With the middle host well on the way to being destroyed, the final line broke and ran. Many a man tried to flee into the waters of God's Eye, thinking it would protect them from the savage blows of the Starsteel blades, only for their heavy steel armour to drag them underneath the calm waters.

More fled to the saftety of the forests, only to be ridden down by pursuing Weirwood Warriors. A small minority, some 100 men, banded together and formed a ring.

Randyll Tarly was at the centre of his ring, his Valyrian steel greatsword in his hand, his booming voice echoing around as he prepared to make a last stand.

The Weirwood Warriors reformed around the ring of 100 men, blades drawn and teeth bared.

Ned trotted his horse forward, out of the mass of men and to where Lord Tarly could see him clearly. He reached up and pulled his helm off his head.

"Lord Tarly." He greeted the older man.

"Lord Stark." The man said shortly as he clenched his hands around his sword.

"Will you surrender?"

The man shook his head. "No."

"Single combat then." Ned said. "To first blood."

Lord Tarly narrowed his eyes. "And if I win?"

"You will be allowed to return south with the remains of your host."

"If I lose?"

"You surrender and all you and yours become my prisoners."

Tarly stewed it over for a minute before nodding. He pushed his way through the ring and out of the shield wall. "To first blood" He said.

"To first blood." Eddard Stark agreed before dismounting his horse and striding forward to meet the man in battle.

Randyll lifted his sword into a defensive position, and crouched backwards, steadying his body.

Ned breathed deeply once, twice and then placed his helm back on. He drew his sword and heard Randyll Tarly grunt. "That is a fine blade."

"It is." Ned replied. Quick as a viper Randyll struck out with his greatsword. Ned caught the blade on his and the impact jarred his arms. Randyll followed up with a rapid series of swings that left Ned on the back foot, constantly moving back to avoid losing his head or some other important part of him.

Ned saw an opening and took it, swinging his blade beneath Randyll's guard and into his breastplate. His blade sheared through the steel. Unfortunately it didn't go deep enough to draw blood, but it cut a strap, causing the front of Randyll Tarly's breastplate to fall away, exposing the light leather padding underneath.

The Lord of Horn Hill backed away and Ned pivoted forwards, swinging his sword at the man's side.

Randyll managed to block and they exchanged a furious flurry of slashes before Ned stepped back to catch his breath. Randyll resettled into a defensive crouch, also taking the chance to catch his breath.

Ned knew he had to finish it, and finish it soon. Taking a chance he ran straight at the lord and knocked his swinging blade aside with his own, before punching him in his unprotected stomach with his spare hand.

The Lord of Horn Hill, bowed over reflexively, briefly winded. Ned took full advantage and knocked his sword from his hand, into the bloodied ground.

He placed his sword on Randyll's neck.

"Yield." He demanded.

Randyll Tarly swallowed before slowly reaching up and throwing his helmet off. "Yield." He conceded.

Ned sighed and put his sword back in its sheath. He stepped backwards and remounted his horse. "We'll set up camp here for the night." He said as he looked out over the waters of God's Eye, towards the direction of the isle of faces.

As his men followed his instructions he went down to the water's edge. Blood was leeching into the water from their field of battle and it had turned the water a dark red.

He heard movement behind him and Rodrick Walton came to stand beside him.

"The battlefield was well chosen. The Weirwoods on the isle shall feast tonight."

Ned looked at the bloodied water, and the floating bodies, and could not help but agree.


	42. Chapter 42

**The Battle of the Trident.**

**Rickard I**

His horse moved beneath him, the animal's powerful muscles thrumming as he rode away from their camp on the Trident. Next to him loped two War Wolves, with a grace that belied their savagery in battle. If his horse was unnerved by the presence of the two apex predators who ran beside it, it hid it well. In truth though, many northern horses were accustomed to the presence of the War Wolves, particularly those bred for war, such as the mount that Rickard sat upon.

He stopped a fair way from the camp, upon the rise behind their camp, and watched as his soldiers marched out behind him, in twin columns, like two twin rivers running parallel to each other. The steady beat of his soldier's feet and the jangling of their armour and weaponry provided a comforting sound to Rickard's burnt ears.

Soon his son would be avenged. Soon his debts to house Targaryen would be repaid. He would strike blood for blood, and then some more.

As he listened to the clatter of his men's armour, he rechecked his own. His dark grey plate armour provided protection from all but the deadliest weapons in the most skilled hands. He rechecked the straps of his pauldrons, refitted his gauntlets and tightened the strap of his breast plate. The one thing his armour lacked was a helmet. He had been offered one, but all but scorned it. He wanted his enemies to know who had killed them. He wanted them to look upon his face and feel fear. He wanted to his burns to become synonymous with fear and death. Strapped to his back was House Stark's Valyrian steel Greatsword, Ice. It was a hulking, solid chunk of metal that was the largest Valyrian steel weapon in the known world. It was Rickard's pride and joy to wield, and he was glad that he had chosen to leave it at Winterfell when he had pursued Brandon. If he hadn't, it would have been in the hands of the Mad King and his cronies.

Just thinking about them made Rickard's heartbeat rise. He clenched his jaw. For him this fight could not start fast enough. He had been ready for weeks now, all they were waiting on was for Rhaegar to get off his arse and come and fight them. When Rhaegar still had not come and showed no intention of coming, Rickard had provided some motivation…and by the old gods had it worked well.

Rickard turned his eye to the opposite bank of the Trident. He was yet to see the plume of dust that indicated the nearing Targaryen forces. His outriders had sworn they were there though. They had said they were a four hour march away, so Rickard was ensuring the implementation of the final steps of the strategy that Jon Arryn, Brynden Tully and himself had hammered out a week ago.

The sun had just begun to peek over the horizon, painting the land in a myriad of pinks, reds and yellows. It was a beauty that would soon by marred by blood.

Rickard turned his head. "Are the other troops still in position?"

Greatjon Umber stirred from his own saddle. "Yes Lord Stark. The Targaryen host continues to barrel forward though, at a speed we did not predict."

Rickard shrugged. It didn't really matter. The end result would still be the same. He had too many troops for it to go the other way. The gods themselves would have to be against Rickard for him to lose this battle. It had been planned down to the minutest detail with some of the finest military minds in Westeros.

Rhaegar was rushing in as they wanted and had put himself in the exact position they wanted him in.

Across the river a horseman suddenly burst from the trees, his horse panting heavily, suggesting he had just run his horse either quite far or quite hard. He quickly forded the stream, made his way through the camp and ascended to the ridge that Rickard was sitting on. Already half of his men were hidden behind the ridge, unseen to all except those from his position.

The horseman skidded to a stop in front of him before jumping from his horse and falling to one knee.

"They are in position My Lord."

Rickard nodded before turning to the wolves flanking him. "Send the signal."

As one, the wolves sat down on their haunches and lifted their great shaggy heads into the air. As one they howled, and it echoed across the rolling hills of the Riverlands before fading into oblivion. Seconds later the Riverlands was ringing with the howls of wolves, as his men indicated they had understood. Rickard nodded satisfied. Hopefully this wouldn't scare Rhaegar too much. He still wanted a fight out of him.

Only once the last echoes of the wolves' howls died out did the whispering begin. Even though Rickard knew what it was, and who was doing it, it still chilled him to the bone.

**Rhaegar I:**

It began as a whisper upon the wind, so faint that Rhaegar wasn't sure if he had actually heard it. Moments ago the woods had come alive with the howls of wolves, so at first he thought it was just the last echoes of their cries.

Then he heard it again.

Rhaegar.

He strained his ears, still unsure if he had actually heard it.

Rhaegar.

He had definitely heard it then. He turned to Ser Barristan Selmy who rode beside him. The man was frowning, clearly deep in thought. "Did you hear that?" Rhaegar asked.

Ser Barristan glanced up. "Hear what?"

Rhaegar.

"There!" Rhaegar exclaimed. "Someone said my name!"

Rhaegar.

This time he heard it clearly. It was becoming louder, more defined and this time he knew Ser Barristan heard it as well. His face had gone white, and his eyes were searching the woods.

Rhaegar.

It was so clear now, that Rhaegar didn't even need to strain his ears. Indeed, a glance behind him told him that rest of his forces had heard it as well. Hundreds of eyes were searching the woods that lined the sides of the Kingsroad, searching for whoever, or whatever, was doing this.

Rhaegar.

Behind him he saw Anders Yronwood spur his horse forward. The dornish lord, the man in charge of the Dornish host, pulled his horse up alongside Rhaegars. Rhaegar looked at him. "Do you know what this is?" He asked and Lord Yronwood nodded grimly.

"It's a northern battle tactic they picked up from the Company of the Rose."

"What's it called?"

Rhaegar.

"The whispers of winter." Yronwood replied with a grimace. "I know a man who was there when the company first used it in the war between Braavos and Pentos. A pentoshi force had managed to push into the Andalos foothills. The entire company had hidden themselves within the hills and continued to whisper the same word over and over. Within a day, the Pentoshi were fleeing in fear of their lives. Ever since, the Pentoshi have considered the hills to be haunted by demons."

Rhaegar.

Rhaegar scoffed. "The Pentoshi were cowards." He snarled, "These men will find that we are made of harder stuff."

Anders Yronwood shrugged. "You might be, but your common soldiers aren't."

Rhaegar.

Rhaegar turned his head and looked back down the column. Many a man was pale, and some held their spears within trembling hands. Many an eye was cast to the wood, watching it warily, flicking to every shadow.

"This will not do." Rhaegar snarled.

Rhaegar.

"No." Barristan ceded. "It's never good to have your nerves strung this high before a battle."

Anders Yronwood nodded before turning and racing down the line, yelling encouragements to the pale faced men.

Rhaegar.

Rhaegar shivered. As much as he didn't want to admit it, it was bloody effective. Already the whispers were grating on his nerves, causing him to grind his teeth. He turned to Ser Barristan, the old knight watching the tree line warily, a lot like the rest of the host.

"Do you think we should pick up the pace?" Rhaegar asked. Barristan tore his eyes away from the woods and met Rhaegar's gaze.

"No. It would only exhaust the men further. Better to take our time."

Rhaegar nodded, content at his last remaining Kingsguards advice.

Rhaegar.

This was the loudest it had been yet and it caused Rhaegar to wince. This was getting very disconcerting, very quickly. A glance at Ser Barristan told him that even the normally unflappable knight was having a hard time.

"We double time the march." He suddenly announced. Anything to get away from this infernal whispering. Barristan threw a wary glance at Rhaegar. "Are you sure My Prince?"

Rhaegar nodded. "I am eager to meet Lord Rickard in battle. I have no time for his games. Let's get to the Trident, crush him and his lords and then return home."

Barristan smiled wryly. "If only it were that simple."

Rhaegar grinned back at him.

Rhaegar.

The discordant whisper caused his smile to be replaced by a scowl. He turned and nodded to Richard Lonmouth who hefted a war horn to his lips.

He blew the note once, twice, three times. Immediately the call was repeated down the line, and the host sped up.

They had marched onwards for a few more minutes when they came across the first stake, hammered deep into the gorund. Sitting attached to the top of the stake was a leather pouch. Rhaegar held up a hand and the host stopped behind him. Together, he and Ser Barristan made their way to the stake.

Ser Barristan reached down and plucked the bag off the top of the stake. He opened it and peered inside. Immediately, his eyes widened and he blanched. He handed the bag to Rhaegar wordlessly.

Rhaegar took it and spilled the contents of the pouch into his hand. It was a single finger, chopped off at the joint. Rhaegar looked at it before glaring at the woods around him.

The message was clear. Rickard was sick of waiting. Rhaegar scowled as he thought of Jon Connington. Somewhere in these woods, his dear friend was being held, most probably in pain and definitely missing a few fingers.

Rhaegar.

The whisperings still hadn't stopped. Rhaegar glared at the open road ahead before placing the finger back in the bag, and rehanging it from the post.

Rickard Stark was a barbarian who deserved worse than death. Screw his promises to Lyanna to keep him alive. He would die at Rhaegar's sword and he would die painfully. Rhaegar would enjoy every scream he managed to coax from The Burnt Lord's lips. He spurred his horse forward, and behind him, his host of 55000 men marched forward, the sound of their tramping feet filling the forest.

Above it all though, the whisperings continued.

Rhaegar.

Rhaegar.

Rhaegar.

**Eddard I:**

The sound of distant war horns echoed from somewhere in front of him. Next to him, Rodrick Walton stirred from where he was leaning against a mossy log. He closed his eyes and when he opened them again they were milky white, indicating he was warging. Seconds later, his eyes returned to their normal steely grey. He turned to Ned. "They're ahead of us by about one league."

Ned nodded before strapping his new sword to his side. He still couldn't believe he was the wielder of a Starsteel blade. Even if the metal wasn't as rare as he had once thought. He mounted his horse and around him the Weirwood Warriors did the same. He adjusted his grip on his lance, and settled deep into his saddle.

He closed his eyes and breathed in and out, enjoying the calming rhythm of his own breath.

"Do not be afraid." Rodrick said as his White Hart, plodded forward to stand next to Ned's horse. "The old gods are with us."

Ned switched his gaze to the Weirwood tree that they had chosen to stop by, and where a few remaining Weirwood Warriors were deep in prayer.

"Their eyes stretch south once more, like in the days of the first men, when the Weirwoods ruled from The Stepstones to the Wall."

Ned just nodded. Glancing one last time at the tree, and uttering one final prayer, Ned gave the signal for the Weirwood Warriors to move out.

Their mounts picked their way carefully through the treacherous terrain. These horses were some of the most finely bred and trained in the world, and had bonds with their riders that went beyond just the physical. It still scared Ned how good these men were at killing. The decimation of Tarly's host had been a brutal and bloody conflict, and Ned could still see the bloody stain that stretched across the waters of the Eye.

The warged animals of the Weirwood Warriors crept through the woods alongside them, and not for the first time, Ned marvelled at the relationship between man and beast. The most prominent animal were wolves, and indeed they seemed to be everywhere. Their use in battle was unchallenged, and Ned had yet to encounter any form of combat that would hold against a pack of swarming wolves. Especially when it was in the thousands strong.

Cavalry was useless as their horses panicked, and infantrymen were not much better. The most effective way to fight them Ned figured was to squash yourself in a corner, and prepare to fight the one by one.

Unfortunately for Rhaegar and his host, there would be no such opportunity to do so in the rolling hills of the Riverlands.

Soon enough the rear of Rhaegar's host came into view through the trees. Ned and his men stayed in the shadows though, and had already painted their armour with mud so as not attract the sun's glare.

Rodrick once more pulled his White Hart alongside Ned. "A formidable sight." Rodrick said and Ned could not help but agree. There was more than five times the numbers that Ned had faced at Stoney Sept. They could only hope now that their plan would work. If even one part of it was delayed or early by even five minutes, it could spell for disaster and give Rhaegar the opportunity to slip away with his host, an outcome that Ned dearly wanted to avoid with the amount of effort they had put into just getting Rhaegar here.

Ned and the Weirwood Warriors continued to shadow the Targaryen host for the better part of the morning. Rhaegar was pushing his men hard, and it had begun to show. Some men were dropping off, staggering along at the back of the column and more than one man had fallen to the wayside, to be left behind.

It certainly didn't help that the men were on half-rations due to Rheagars lack of a proper baggage train. Including the fact that many in the host were too scared to leave the camp to hunt had not only meant that the provisions were running low, but morale was also running low.

Morale was all that kept an army going in Ned's opinion. It didn't matter if you had all the best food, and all the best weapons and armour, if you had no morale your defeat was all but guaranteed.

Soon the Weirwood Warriors had reached the point where they had been ordered to stop until signalled. Ned pulled his charged in, and watched as Rhaegar's host continued on down the Kingsroad.

And above it all the whisperings continued.

Rhaegar.

Rhaegar.

Rhaegar.

"Rhaegar." Ned whispered as he pulled his helm from his head, joining in the chorus of whispering voices, all chanting the same name. "Rhaegar." Ned whispered as he glared at the disappearing host.

Soon his brother could rest in peace. Soon his father could sleep in peace. Soon he could have his vengeance.

**Rhaegar II:**

As soon as they reached the Trident the whispering stopped. It didn't fade away, didn't gradually die out, it just stopped. It was as uncanny as it was disconcerting.

Rhaegar sat on his black charger as his men trooped into position, assembling on the southern side of the Trident. Several lines of mounted knights formed the vanguard, while behind them sat columns of infantrymen, prepared to support their fellow loyalists.

Satisfied they would soon be in position, Rhaegar turned to observe the elderly knight in white plate who sat on his courser further down the stream, directing his own troops.

He turned his eye to the forces that were assembling on the other side of the Trident. How they had managed to defeat Jon Connington, Rhaegar would never know. They had streamed out of their camp in drabbles, many still holding a wineskin. They formed loose lines, and didn't really have a sense of organisation about them.

Rhaegar predicted there was perhaps 20,000 men assembled against him. The hosts had mingled and northerners stood beside riverlords even as valemen stood next to stormlords.

It seemed that Jon had bloodied them at Stoney Sept more than even Varys could have predicted.

He was glad. At least Jon Connington had gone down in a blaze of glory. His defeat hadn't been for nothing, instead paving the way for Rhaegar to win today.

Scanning the centre of the enemy line he looked for the sigil of the running wolf and found it almost immediately. He could not see the Lord that had caused them so much grief, but he assumed he must have been near there.

As he tracked the progress of the last of the rebel's stragglers emerging from their camp, he could not help but feel slightly disappointed. He had expected more from The Burnt Lord, and instead all he had gotten was a bunch of undisciplined, drunken soldiers forming half a line and preparing to rush at them, even with less than half of the troops.

At the centre of the enemy line, he noticed a commotion. A small group of men had stepped forth holding instruments. They struck up a haunting mournful tune. As one, the entire enemy host began to sing.

Where now her horse and its rider,

Where now our lords and their heirs,

Where is our dear sweet Lyanna?

Wind whistling through her hair?

Where now the blood of the Mad King?

Where now the blood of Rhaegar?

Where now the head of the Mad King?

Where now the head of the Raper?

Rhaegar, Rhaegar, come out and die.

O that is what, our heir did cry,

Now he is dead,

And in his stead,

We now do call,

Rhaegar Rhaegar, come out and die!

Rhaegar, Rhaegar, come out and die!

Rhaegar. Rhaegar, come out and die!

Rhaegar's jaw clenched. How dare they accuse him of such activities? Did they not know what his father had done to his mother? Did they not know of his aversion to such activities?

Rhaegar shook his head. There would be no mercy found for these northerners today. He would break the Stark's for what they had done! He would tear Winterfell to the ground! He would kill them all!

He turned to look down his line and he saw that his troops were finally in position. He stood up in his horse's stirrups and waved his sword around his head, mustering the courage of his troops.

His troops roared in response, and before Rhaegar knew it his men had burst into a chant.

"Rhaegar! Rhaegar! Rhaegar!" They chanted as they stamped their feet and clashed their wepaons against their shields.

Across the river, the rebels broke into a chant of their own, and while there was nowhere near as many of them as Rhaegar had, their chant filled the air, drowning out the chants of his own men.

"Rapist! Rapist! Rapist!" They jeered, before calling out a different name. "Stark! Stark! Stark!"

The sound roared around them, almost as if a host five times their number was roaring right alongside them.

Rhaegar turned to his horn blower. "Sound the charge!" He instructed. His horn blower raised the horn to his lips and blew one long, hard, continuous note. As one his host began to move forward to engage the rebels that had amassed on the other side of the river.

Rhaegar spurred his horse forward along with the rest of them, charging to meet the enemy host in battle.

"For Jon." He whispered as he slammed his helm down. "For Lyanna."

A glance to his left found Barristan Selmy's host marching in step with his. A glance to his right showed the same among the Dornish led host.

He maintained an easy canter, not allowing his horsemen to outstrip his infantry. The soldiers on the far bank didn't seem very concerned however. A few pulled out bows and began to fire off arrows at his horsemen. For every arrow that hit a man, ten missed. It was a waste of effort in Rhaegar's opinion.

Rhaegar looked at the line and felt something stir in his stomach.

Something didn't feel right here. These men should have been on the verge of running, they were outnumbered by more than two to one, and yet they continued to just stand there as if they hadn't a care in the world.

He looked closer and saw one was holding an entire leg of lamb, and was eating it as he watched their line advance.

Something's wrong.

Rhaegar's line hit the waters of the Trident and they began to make their way through the shallow ford. Rhaegar turned around in his saddle, trying to see if maybe Rickard Stark had managed to slip a host past him. He saw nothing apart from his own men.

He turned back around and observed that the rebels had managed to finally get into some level of organisation. The lamb man had gotten rid of his leg of lamb and replaced it with a battle-axe.

The enemy line pulled together with spearmen on the front, preparing for the time when the horseman would arrive. Rhaegar's forces were in the middle of the river, when the line finally lost its courage.

It began with a single man, who threw down his shield and turned and ran the other way, soon another man was following his example, and then the entire line just seemed to melt away. Rhaegar could hear the rebel's commanders yelling themselves hoarse to hold the line, but their men would not listen, and soon the commanders gave up the fight and fled with their men.

Rhaegar's cavalry, seeing the line of seemingly fleeing men, broke their own line to pursue. Rhaegar held his horse back, as horsemen thundered past him, intent on striking down some of the fleeing rebels.

He yelled himself hoarse trying to stop his men from charging on, but they didn't listen and continued on regardless. Looking to his left he saw Ser Barristan had had better luck with his host, but the Dornish was even worse than his.

The rebels disappeared over a crest and his horseman disappeared over the crest with them. From behind the hill came yelling, screaming and the clash of steel on steel.

Rhaegar's horse left the shallow waters of the Trident, and shook itself off on the banks of the river. Looking to the top of the hill Rhaegar noticed something had changed. Over the hill, the screams and yells of fighting and dying men had died down, and were replaced by the tramp of thousands of feet, all marching in step and unison.

Rhaegar looked at the crest of the hill in concern. He had sent no infantry over the hill. A single horseman emerged from behind the crest, a lance in his hands, and a banner attached to the lance.

A breeze sprung up, and the banner fluttered open, to reveal a running grey dire wolf on an ice-white field.

**Rickard II:**

The Burnt Lord sat upon the crest of the hill the banner on his lance fluttering in the wind. Behind him lay the broken remnants of the cavalry that had pursued his men. The tramp of his soldier's feet filled the air around him as they crested the hill next to him. He had the vast majority of his soldiers behind him, some 80,000 men.

Down in the river below him he saw Rhaegar, dressed in ridiculous ornamental plate armour that was covered in rubies. It only served to make him stick out even more, something Rickard appreciated. At least he would know where to lead his men.

The other commanders of his host rode up beside him. Robert Baratheon looked half a demon in his antlered helm, and Jon Arryn had all the honour of his Andal forefathers in the shiny plate armour that covered him from head to toe. The most impressive looking though was Bronze Yohn Royce, whose bronze runic armour had begun to glow.

It had first begun to glow a few days ago and no one had any clue as to why.

Robert raised a shaking finger and pointed it at Rhaegar, who was wheeling his horse about and trying to organise his infantry and remaining cavalry into battle formations. "There he is."

Rickard nodded in confirmation before turning to the wolf that sat at his side. "Howl for me old friend."

The wolf nodded and got to his haunches, before letting loose a howl that cut through the din of wheeling cavalry, and marching men.

Immediately the wolves downstream and upstream answered the call, and once more the air was ringing with the howls of wolves.

**Rhaegar III:**

"It was a ruse!" He heard Ser Barristan call. "They wanted to draw our cavalry in! We need to reform, get into defensive formations!"

"Reform!" Rhaegar cried. "Defensive positions."

He wheeled his horse about, running up and down the lines, cajoling his men into forming defensible lines.

He looked back up at the hill, and his heart almost stopped. Gods, where did they get all those men!

Ser Barristan came thundering up on his warhorse and reigned in next to him, breathing hard.

"We need to retreat." He said. "You need to flee."

Rhaegar turned around to observe their escape route and he almost fell off his horse. "It seems our decision had been made for us."

Barristan also turned and Rhaegar watched the colour drain from his face. "Gods…" He murmured.

"Gods indeed." Rhaegar said.

Two more hosts flying the banners of the running direwolf were marching from the south and north of the ford. If they met up, there would be no escape for anyone. One of the hosts seemed to be further back than the other, and Rhaegar knew it would provide a small opportunity for some to get away. He considered it briefly, he could make it with Ser Barristan and some other men.

The yells of his army though brought him back down to earth, to the reality he so abhorred. "I will not abandon my men." He said with a twinge of melancholy.

"Rhaegar!" Barristan exclaimed, "There is no shame in running, especially from numbers such as these!"

Rhaegar shook his head stubbornly. "I will not abandon my men." He insisted.

Ser Barristan looked at him incredulously. "You will die!"

"Perhaps. If I am to die then I will take my father's enemies with me."

Rhaegar drew his sword and pointed it at the knot of men, in the centre of the crest. The antlered helm could only belong to Robert Baratheon, and the one wielding the lance with the banner was clearly Rickard Stark. "Forget the rest of their army. Gather the best swords and riders we have. If we are to die we will take them with us."

Barristan nodded, understanding what he intended to do and spurred his horse away to gather the men.

Where was Randyll Tarly's host? They needed him now and if he didn't show soon their entire army could be doomed to defeat.

"Gods Arthur," Rhaegar murmured, "could I use you now."

As his thoughts turned to his dear friend, he thought of the girl this war was fought over. He could still remember the fierce countenance that attracted him so. She was the fire to his ice, the ice to his fire.

Up there was the man who had made her life miserable, the one who had consigned her to marriage with a drunken, whoring brute. Up there was the one who had defeated Jon Connington in battle, the one who had mutilated his friend. Up there was the man he had sworn to kill, and kill him he would.

**Robert I**

Down there was the man who had stolen his betrothed, had made her life miserable and brought her honour into doubt. Down there was the man whose family was responsible for the death of his mother and father, the family who after taking his parents had tried to take his brother. Down there was the man he had sworn to kill, and kill him he would.

He would wipe the Targaryen's from the face of the earth for all they had done to him and Ned. He would kill Aery's with his own hammer and strike Rhaegar's children's heads from their necks with his own hands. He would kill all the dragonspawn he could get his hands on.

He pulled his hammer from his back and took a few practice swings. It felt good in his hands, a familiar weight that only one had managed to stand against so far.

"Gods Ned," Robert murmured, "would I love you beside me right now."

As his thoughts wandered to his dear friend, he thought of the mission he had been sent on. He wondered if Randyll Tarly's host was still on their way up the Kingsroad or if Ned had managed to stop them. He wondered if Ned's body was lying broken somewhere, for only the crows to feast on.

"Remember." Rickard Stark said. "We want Rhaegar Targaryen alive."

He looked at Robert here, and Robert couldn't help but shiver. Even though the man was Ned's father, he still gave him the creeps. It might have had something to do with the horrible burns that covered his body, but for as long as Robert could remember he had left him feeling this way.

"Watcha lookin at me for?" Robert asked with a scowl.

"Cause you're the one most likely to ignore me."

Robert grunted in reply. If it came down to him and Rhaegar, Robert doubted he would have the self-control to hold back his swings. Not that he would ever admit it to Rickard Stark. If he did he was certain that the Burnt Lord would make him command the reserves, a prospect that Robert did not relish.

"Here they come." Jon Arryn warned as he drew his sword.

Robert returned his gaze to Rhaegar and saw that a knot of horsemen had gathered themselves around Connington's silver prince. Some notable standards fluttered amongst them including Ser Barristan Selmy, Ser Richard Lonmouth as well as the three Darry brothers, all of whom were notable swordsmen. There was also some Dornish banners that Robert didn't recognise and a few from the crownlands.

A horn blew somewhere and the entire Targaryen host began to march forward.

Finally! Robert exalted within his mind. He turned to Rickard who was busy watching the hosts across the river that would cut off the Targaryen's escape route. Finally he switched his gaze back to the advancing Targaryen host.

He lowered his lance and kicked his horse forward, and behind him the entire rebel army did so too. Robert ran with them, his horse thundering along towards the Targaryen line, along with a few wolves and to his surprise and amusement an armoured brown bear.

"Rhaegar!" He roared as he whirled his hammer, "Fight me!"

**Rhaegar IV**

Rhaegar and his group of horseman pushed themselves up the hill and towards Rickard Stark's advancing army. Rickard Stark himself was leading the army, with Robert Baratheon and Jon Arryn riding right beside him. The fool had chosen not to wear his helm, leaving his burnt face for all to see.

It was the first time that Rhaegar had seen the scars his father had given The Burnt Lord and it was horrifying beyond his wildest imaginations. How the man had even survived was beyond Rhaegar's thoughts, for he had seen better men die of less.

Him and his men pushed forward, determined to face Rickard Stark in battle, but to his dismay the lines never met. Instead the air was filled with black arrows and they fell all around. Rhaegar held his shield over his head, protecting him from the worst but he saw that already one of the Darry bothers had fallen with an arrow through his stomach, while Richard Lonmouth's horse suffered from an arrow through the flank that saw it throw Richard off and stampede away.

Rhaegar was forced to stop and revaluate the battlefield. It seemed Rickard had placed his archers along the top of the ridge, while his infantry protected his left and right flanks. Another infantry division sat in his centre, but this division was supplemented by a large group of heavy cavalry, which where bearing down on them now.

The amount of men that Rickard Stark had managed to muster was mind boggling, especially when he turned and saw that the hosts designed to cut off his escape were almost in position. He must have gathered at least 100,00 men here. To gather so many he must have recalled the Company of the Rose, but Varys had told him the Company was still in Braavos and had no intention of returning for the conflict.

A memory of Lyanna sprung into his mind then and he cursed at what he did not see. He had mocked her for being from the North, one of the weakest kingdoms and she had simply smiled before saying "you know nothing, Rhaegar Targaryen."

The truth was so horrifying he wondered how long the Stark's had been planning this. When Aegon conquered the North, Torrhen Stark had mustered 20,000 men. To muster 100,000 men today, as well as a navy that was raiding up and down the Crownlands and relieving Storm's End was a feat of nation building that must have been in place from the second Aegon the conqueror stepped foot in Westeros. It was no good to think on the past when he was in the present though Rhaegar surmised before switching his gaze back to the hosts that were attempting to cut off their escape.

If he waited much longer the opportunity to leave would be gone, and he would either win, a prospect that was looking more and more unlikely, or his host would be wiped out.

He heard his name being called and looked upwards to see Robert Baratheon bearing down on him, his antlered helm firmly on his head and his massive Warhammer swinging through the air in large dangerous sweeps.

"Kill Robert!" He roared at his men as he turned and spurred his horse forward. He didn't even look back to see if his men had followed, instead only focusing everything on killing the drunken whoremonger who believed that Lyanna belonged to him.

They met with a clash so horrible, both men were thrown from their horses. Rhaegar scrambled to his feet and went to engage Robert but was beaten there by the rest of his men. To Robert's credit, he did not even shirk.

With a speed and a grace that belied his size, he swung his massive Warhammer into the chest of a Dornish lord's horse, stopping it dead. The horse tumbled over, blood pouring out of its mouth, screaming in agony. The Dornish lord was caught beneath his horse, and another swing from Robert's hammer ended him as well.

One of the Darry brother's moved to engage then, planning to ride Robert down, but Robert dodged out of the way, and instead swung his hammer into the man's shoulder, throwing him from his horse. Without even breaking stride, he grabbed Darry's horse's reigns and swung himself into the saddle of the chestnut mare. Wheeling the horse around, he came blow to blow with another dornishman and killed him quickly before going after the last surviving Darry brother.

Robert was a demon, swinging with an ungodly strength that popped his opponents head off cleanly. Richard Lonmouth ran past Rhaegar, his sword drawn and shield held defensively. He went to engage the stag lord, only to be rebuffed by a series of massive swings that left him with a broken arm.

Rhaegar rushed forward himself, calling Robert's name as he ran. Robert turned and saw him and charged back at him. They met in a series of slashes and swings that left Rhaegar's arms numb with the force of them. Rhaegar backpedalled away from Robert's swings, only to trip over one of his fallen comrades. Robert raised his hammer and swung it down at his chest. Rhaegar rolled out of the way and it only caught him on the side of his ribs, his armour protecting him from the worst of the blow. It still hurt though and if the cracking was anything to go by he had broken more than one rib. Gasping in pain, Rhaegar crawled backwards, away from the demon who had come to plague him so.

"For Lyanna!" Robert roared as he swung his hammer at Rhaegar's head. The hammer filled his vision and Rhaegar closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitably of death. Strangely he didn't feel sad for himself, but only happy that the prophecy would be fulfilled. His son would avenge him, and lead the world against the forces of darkness had plagued it so. When he didn't feel the sting of Robert's hammer he opened his eyes to see only the pristine white sword of Ser Barristan Selmy, holding back the swing of Robert's hammer.

Rhaegar scrambled backwards, away from the white blade that had saved his life.

"Run Rhaegar." Ser Barristan said as he pushed Robert back. "Now, while you still have the chance."

Rhaegar looked around and saw the horrible state of the battle. The rebel's flanks had marched down and were crushing his own flanks in a brutal pincer movement. Behind his host, one of Rickard Stark's spare hosts had managed to get into position, blocking off half of the Kingsroad.

It was now or never. Heart twisting in agony at what he was about to do, Rhaegar turned and ran. He snatched the reigns of a riderless horse and swung himself into the saddle, his broken ribs feeling like they were on fire. Every jolt of the saddle sent lances of pain running up Rhaegar's left side.

He kicked the horse's sides and it begun to run through the battlefield, through the masses of fighting men. Thankfully his centre was still relatively intact so his retreat was largely unhindered.

Many of his men saw him running and as he feared they began to throw down their weapons and drop to their knees. Even more ran after him, attempting to escape the slaughter of the ford, a slaughter which saw the water run red with blood, so dark that it glistened like the rubies on Rhaegar's breastplate.

Rhaegar's horse galloped through the ford and up the other side of the river. It was going to be close, the other host was almost in positon. There was a narrow strip of land that was as of yet unhindered. He kicked his horses flanks harder, and to his immense relief made it through the gap before it could close. Turning his head caused him to burst into tears. He was the only one who had made it through. On the other side of the mass of Northern soldiers his army was being slaughtered.

Crying openly he continued on, running into the forests on the side of the Kingsroad and away from the demons of the battle.

**Rickard**

Rickard Stark slammed his spurs into his horse's sides and it shot forward, feet drumming against the ground, muscles straining in exertion. He thundered through the mass of men, his large war horse smashing men out of his way as he pursued Rhaegar's retreating figure.

"Rhaegar!" He roared, "Come and fight me you coward!"

Rhaegar continued to flee on his black stallion, either ignoring Rickard or not hearing him.

Rickard saw Robert and resisted the urge to stop and kill him. Because of him Rhaegar was getting away before the trap had been properly sprung.

Rickard flicked his reigns and kicked his horse even harder and slowly began to gain to ground on the fleeing dragon. A large knot of men assembled in front of his horse, preparing to halt his pursuit. Roaring wordlessly he yanked his sword from its scabbard and gripped it tightly as he bore down on the men who stood in the way of him and his vengeance.

Then he was upon them, swinging his sword in long sweeping arcs that cleft through metal and flesh like a hot knife through butter.

The men around him fell to his sword, but it was taking too long and there were too many.

He finally managed to break free of the press of men and raced after the disappearing figure, but to his despair the prince had made it through the northern hosts on the south of the Trident.

"Rhaegar!" He roared, his voice cracking in despair, "Rhaegar!"

He thundered forwards and his troops parted for his horse. His horse thundered through the mass of men and to the top of the crest that Rhaegar had disappeared over, but the silver prince was nowhere to be seen.

"No..." Rickard murmured as he slumped from his horse and onto his knees.

"NO!" Rickard roared as tears begun to fall down his face.

His chance at vengeance was gone. He had broken his last vow to his son. His chance to insult the Targaryens, honour his gods and warn the world of his wrath was gone, disappeared over the hill with Rhaegar Targaryen.

In his mind's eye he saw his son's bloodied and bruised face, covered in cuts and blood.

No, he thought, it is not over till it's over.

With renewed vigour he jumped onto his horse and pushed it down the hill and into the woods in which Rhaegar Targaryen was lurking.

Wounded and weary as Rhaegar was, he couldn't have gotten far without needing to stop. When he did stop, the Burnt Lord would find him, and when he did find him The Burnt Lord's vengeance would be nigh.


	43. Chapter 43

"He got away."

Ned didn't have to ask who, there could only be one person who Rodrick would bother informing him had gotten away. Ned nodded. "Do you know where he is?"

Rodrick nodded. "I've got a warg keeping an eye on him with an eagle, and one of my wolves has his scent."

"Let's get him."

Rodrick nodded and together they made their way out of the copse of trees they had been hiding in and in the direction Rodrick directed. One of his wolves padded along in front of them, it's great snout pressed to the ground, following the invisible trail only it could detect.

They had been following the wolf for at least an hour when Ned first noticed the signs of someone moving through here recently.

A low hanging branch had been snapped off, and in the mud of a puddle a horses hoof prints could be clearly seen. Rodrick closed his eyes for a second, before giving his attention back to Ned.

"He's just up ahead, in a clearing by a pool of water. He's injured."

Ned nodded. "I would have been surprised if he wasn't."

Together the two of them made their way to the clearing where Rhaegar was. The second they entered the clearing the horse that Rhaegar had fled on bolted away at the scent of the apex predator that padded along silently beside them.

Rhaegar turned his head towards them, his body propped up on a rock next to a shallow pool of water.

"I'm afraid I have you at a disadvantage." Rhaegar said. "What would your names be?"

Ned wordlessly reached up and removed his helm. He saw Rhaegar's eyes shift as he saw him. They went from quiet despair to an almost sort of…hope?

"Lord Stark." Rhaegar greeted with a slight incline of his head. "I'm sorry to not be seeing you in better circumstances."

"Me too." Ned responded with a sigh.

"I didn't kidnap her you know."

Ned averted his gaze. "Who cares anymore?"

Rhaegar laughed weakly. "Your right. No one cares anymore. It's become more than just a girl that couldn't bear to live with the life her father made for her?"

"You blame us?"

"A war is coming Ned."

"It's Eddard."

Rhaegar shook his head. "It doesn't matter. A war is coming. The dragon needed three heads. I did what had to be done. I can die happy, knowing the world is safe."

Ned shook his head. "The war is already here you fool. You're losing."

"No." Rhaegar responded. "In the end it shall be you who loses. You will be hit first."

Ned rolled his eyes. "I don't have time for this Rhaegar." Ned turned to Rodrick. "Take him."

Rodrick strolled forward and cracked Rhaegar across the head with his bronze gauntlet. It hit with a sickening crack, and Rhaegar dropped forward, knocked out cold.

Ned dragged him over to his horse and threw him unceremoniously over the saddle. He grabbed his horse's reigns and began to lead it away, back to the Kingsroad. Rodrick walked beside him, both of them lost in thought.

Ned lifted his head suddenly as the sound of beating hooves, filled the air. He looked up to see his father bearing down on them, a look of murderous rage plastered over his face. Ned stopped his horse and threw Rhaegar's body to the ground.

Rickard Stark pulled his horse in as he approached.

"I heard you were missing this." Ned said as he mounted his horse.

"Aye. It's all your foolish foster's brother's fault! The idiot rushed Rhaegar before the auxiliary hosts were in position. We managed to capture his army but he still got away."

"He's always been like that. How was the rest of the battle?"

"Quick. How was Tarly?"

"It went as expected."

"Good."

Ned nodded, suddenly very tired. "I'm going to go and find myself a nice bed to lie down in and have a rest. Call me when you have a need of me."

Rickard nodded, and Ned kicked his horse's sides, leading it to his tent on the Trident, where hopefully he could find himself some rest and hot food.


	44. Chapter 44

When Rhaegar awoke he was surprised to see that he was still alive and all in one piece. Indeed it looked as though someone had been sent to treat his wounds, as his broken ribs had been bandaged, and the cut on his head treated. He sat up and looked around the tent he was in. It was sparsely decorated and quite martial. It contained the cot on which he lay and a table with two chairs. Unfortunately there was no food or drink anywhere to be seen, and Rhaegar's parched throat ached considerably.

He swung his legs over the side of the cot and struggled to his feet. He was dressed only in breeches, and grabbed the blanket from his bed to wrap around his bare chest. He winced as he made his way across the tent and to the flap of heavy wool that served as a door. He pushed it aside and stepped outside.

He was greeted with the sight of a military encampment, thousands of tents large, amassed along the north of the Trident. In the far distance, he could see the bloody waters the river, and on the opposite bank piles of bodies. Immediately he was accosted by two soldiers clad in a strange bronze armour that Rhaegar had never seen before. They grasped him about the arms and frog-marched him back into the tent. "Wait here." One of them said.

"Wait!" Rhaegar rasped, "Can I have some water?"

The two men didn't listen however and marched straight back out. Sighing in resignation Rhaegar stumbled back to the bed and lay down. As he stared up at the roof, his thoughts wandered to the crushing defeat that he had just received, and the massive army that had broken him. Lyanna was right it seemed, Rhaegar did know nothing. When the direwolf's fury was aroused it was a terrible thing to behold. Rhaegar had poked the beast when he ran away with Lyanna, but his father had truly awoken it when he killed Brandon Stark and left Rickard Stark horribly burnt.

Not only had Rickard Stark utterly outnumbered him, he had also utterly outmanouvered him, trapping his host within the waters of the Trident. Rhaegar had been provoked and his troops had paid the ultimate price for his anger. He wondered where Ser Barristan was, if he even lived.

For once, Rhaegar was glad that Ser Arthur wasn't by his side. He would have died also. Not even the Sword of the Morning would have been able to hold back the ocean of men that fell against them. He wondered what had happened to Randyll Tarly's troops.

Either they had never come, which Rhaegar doubted, or even more foreboding, another host had managed to stop his march up the Kingsroad, an outcome that was even more terrible to behold. The sheer mass of men that Rickard Stark had managed to array against them was simply put, almost unbelievable. Indeed, Rhaegar would not have believed it himself if he hadn't seen the proof with his own two eyes.

Torrhen Stark had faced his ancestor Aegon the conqueror with 30,000 men. Rickard Stark had fielded at least 100,000 men against him at the Trident. He wondered how many men Rickard had left behind. His ancestors were fools. There was so much they did not know of the North. For so long they had been content believing the tales spun of a poor backwater region, filled with barbarian heathens.

They should have known. The Stark's controlled the largest region of Westeros. The Stark's had the featly of the largest and most prestigious sellsword company in the world, The Company of The Rose.

Rhaegar wondered if Torrhen had even brought his full strength to the Trident. To build an army like the one Rickard Stark had fielded, you first had to build a nation, a tremendous feat that many greater and richer rulers had failed at. Perhaps Torrhen had known of the power of dragons and instead was content to sit down, until the day when dragons would disappear from the world, a day in which the direwolf could rise up again, and throw the shackles of dragonfire off.

The dragons had been dead for almost 150 years however, and the Stark's had sat in silence. No, Rhaegar thought, there was something he was missing, some unknown factor that had stayed the Stark's hand for all these years.

Curse his father, Rhaegar thought, curse his father for bringing this monster down upon them. How long where the Stark's content to kneel though? How long until they grew tired of kneeling at his family's knee? How long would have they stayed bowed for though?

Rhaegar heard a rustling and a shaft of sunlight entered the gloomy interior of the tent. Rhaegar turned his head to the door to see Rickard Stark standing there, holding a tray of food and a jug of water. He was dressed in the heavy furs that the northerners favoured, but over his furs he had thrown a dark grey cloak with a large cowl.

Strapped to his back was the Valyrian Steel greatsword, Ice. At his side rested a knife, and Rhaegar suspected he saw the outline of another in his boot.

Rickard stepped into the tent and placed the tray and jug on the table. He sat down in one of the chairs and gestured for Rhaegar to sit in the other. Rhaegar got up from the cot and sat down across from Lord Rickard.

This was the first time that Rhaegar had seen Rickard Stark's scars up close, and they were even more grotesque than he had ever imagined. The skin had seemed to melt, before burning away, leaving a riddled, marred and melted mess. Rhaegar could not see a single hair anywhere on the man, and perhaps most horrifying was where the patch of skin had totally melted away revealing the tender pink tendons of his cheekbone.

"Terrible to behold aren't they?" Rickard asked as he caught the direction of Rhaegar's gaze.

Rhaegar started, alarmed at having been caught staring. Rheagar swallowed, unable to tear his eyes away from the grim visage of The Burnt Lord. "Aye." He replied.

Rickard Stark snorted before gesturing to the food that he had brought with him. "What would you like?"

Rhaegar shifted his gaze to the tray he had brought. There was some roast meat, a leafy salad, half of a cooked chicken and some fresh fruit. His eyes shifted to the jug and Rickard nodded, before picking the jug up and pouring him a cup of water.

Rheagar drank gratefully, appeasing the parched flesh of his throat. "Thank you." Rhaegar said before picking up one of the peaches that were sitting on the tray. He bit into it and the fruit's juices dribbled down his chin. He scarfed it down as quickly as he could, sating the gnawing in his stomach before picking up some of the roast meat and eating it at a much more relaxed pace.

The whole time Rickard Stark just sat there watching him, not saying a word.

When he had eaten his fill Rheagar turned his attention back to Rickard. "What have you kept me alive for?"

Rickard shrugged. "Why do you think?"

Rheagar thought deeply for a minute. "You want to know where your daughter is?"

Rickard didn't respond, just sat there watching him. After a few seconds it become very awkward so Rhaegar hurried to fill the silence. "The first thing I want you to know is that I did not kidnap your daughter. We fell in love and I intend to make her my queen."

Rickard's face muscles moved, and Rhaegar assumed he was attempting a frown. "You wish to make her your queen? You're already married."

Rhaeger nodded. "That I am. However the Targaryen's marriage rules have always been…different…to everyone else's."

"So you would seek to make her your second wife?"

"Yes."

"And what of any children she has?"

"They would sit in the line of succession as any other child of mine."

"You would potentially put Stark blood on the iron throne?"

Rhaegar nodded. If he could convince Rickard Stark to help him, maybe he could still overthrow his father. It was his only hope now, the last option left to him. It wouldn't have been his first option, but he would make do with what he had. Please gods, Rhaegar prayed, let him be convinced.

"I would. Our two houses were allies for centuries and those were the best centuries the seven kingdoms have ever known, centuries of peace and prosperity, with a Targaryen sitting on the Iron Throne and a Stark serving as Warden of the North. They call me The Last Dragon Lord Rickard, honour the pledge your ancestors made, help me depose my father and I will pardon you all for rebelling."

Rickard stayed silent, just observing Rhaegar and Rhaegar decided to push on. "When Torrhen bent the knee he had 30,000 men. You fielded at least 100,000 here today. Under Targaryen rule your lands and house have flourished. Imagine what we can accomplish together in another 300 years of Targaryen rule! Together we will lead these kingdoms to the greatest heights! Together we can be remembered as the two men that forged an empire greater than that of Old Valyria!"

Rickard began to laugh then and Rheagar wondered if he had said something wrong. Rickard leant forward and rested his elbows on the table.

"Excuse my bluntness Prince Rhaegar, but I don't give a fuck about Lyanna or whatever slum you've holed her up in. If I wanted to know her location I could find out by tomorrow. I didn't march south for her. I didn't swear to avenge her. I swore to avenge the son your mad father took from me. That is what I came south for and that is why your with me today instead of lying dead in the waters of the Trident."

"Please Lord Stark, I know my father's madness better than any."

Rickard laughed again. "Even better than me?"

Rhaegar swallowed before averting his gaze.

"I didn't think so!" Rickard spat.

Rhaegar sighed. He had to try, he owed it too Lyanna. "Please Lord Stark," He beseeched, "House Targaryen's rule has benefited your house greatly. Allow that to continue."

Rickard frowned at him. "Pray tell, how did House Targaryen's rule benefit House Stark?"

Rheagar frowned. "Am I wrong? Has the North not flourished in the last 300 years?"

"Wrong you are, but not about that."

"What then am I wrong about?"

"House Targaryen had nothing to do with the rise of the north. Well, no that's not exactly true. Because of you, we were inspired to be greater, but you did nothing to actively build the North."

"What do you mean?"

"Have you heard of Bloody Brandon the Blessed Bastard?"

"Do you mean Torrhen Stark's bastard brother?"

"Yes."

"I know a little of him."

"Tell me what you know."

"He didn't want to bend to the Targaryen's so he fled east and founded The Company of The Rose who grew into the most powerful sellsword group of all time."

"Is that all you know?"

"Yes."

Rickard snorted in amusement. "You know nothing Rhaegar Targaryen. Let me tell you the full story."

Rickard stood up and began to pace. "When Aegon first landed in Westeros and began his conquest of the seven kingdoms, Brandon Snow, unlike everyone else believed him to be a threat. So he began to research how to kill dragons. No one knows if his research was right, but he believed he had found a way to kill dragons. So Torrhen Stark marched south to take on Aegon's army. As you would well know by now, there Torrhen was greeted with three dragons and 45,000 men, more than he had brought with him.

Torrhen made a decision then, because he knew that even if his brother succeeded in killing the dragons, he would still have to stave off the larger Targaryen army, something he knew he would be unable to do. So he placed his people before his pride and bent the knee, earning the wroth of his bastard brother and all his sons.

Brandon, wroth with his brother, helped forge the peace process and then left, where to, no one knew. Many believed he had gone to gather the lords who did not want to bend the knee, but the moons passed and no one had heard nor seen of any trace of him. Torrhen mourned at the brother he had lost, and his sons mourned the uncle that had gone. Torrhen pushed on though, beginning his new role as Warden of the North.

More than three moons had passed since Torrhen had bent the knee, and Torrhen was holding court in Winterfell. On this particular day he was trying a man that had been accused of rape. In the middle of the proceedings the doors slammed open and in strode a strange man no one had seen before. His hair was as white as the snow which fell from the sky, and the pupils of his eyes were as red as the sap that dripped from the faces of the Weirwoods. Without a word he strode into the hall, grabbed the man by arm and began to drag him out of the hall. Those present were so surprised at the boldness of his actions, it took them a while to respond. He managed to make it to the door before being confronted. Ignoring the protests of the guards that went to stop him, he made his way to the godswood of Winterfell.

The court had followed him, their curiosity aroused by the strange albino that had interrupted proceedings so. With Torrhen that day were many of the great lords of the North including the Boltons, Umbers, Karstarks, Manderlys, Mormonts, Glovers, Dustins, Ryswells, Cerwyns, Tallharts, Hornwoods and the Reeds of the Neck. In the North to this day these houses are regarded as the founding families because of what they witnesses that day.

So this strange albino man had taken the rapist from the hall and dragged him before the heart tree of Winterfell. The court assembled to see what he was going to do, and when the man spoke Torrhen finally recognised him. His bastard brother had returned home. He gave a short speech of why the North had lost its crown. It was good, but it wasn't memorable, indeed the words he spoke have been lost to time.

It was what he did next that became the stuff of legends within The North. He pulled out a dragonglass dagger and plunged it deep into the man's belly and cut a jagged hole. Then he reached in with his bare hands and pulled out the man's innards before throwing them into the boughs of the tree. Then he slit the struggling man's throat, and left his corpse lying in front of the tree.

The court, which till now had remained silent in horror, surged forward determined to stop this madman."

Rickard laughed then, before turning back to Rhaegar with a mad glint in his eye.

"What happened next is sacred knowledge only known to the direct ancestors of those who were present, but at the end it was agreed that the Old Gods had reawaken. Weirwoods began to grow in the south again, the green men ended their self-imposed exile upon the isle of faces. The lords of the north stopped sending their criminals to the wall and instead begun to give them to the gods and the Weirwoods continued to be fed by the blood of the unworthy. And thus the power of the Old Gods grew, and with the growing power of the Old Gods so too did the power of the North.

The gods had gifted Brandon Snow with knowledge you see, and Brandon used this knowledge to begin the forging of a nation that the world would tremble before.

And thus we grew, our power continuing to expand, our wealth continuing to grow and our strength continuing to multiply till this day."

Rickard paced the length of the tent once more before returning to his seat. "You see Rhaegar," He snarled, "You Targaryen's had nothing, absolutely nothing, to do with our strength. All we have built, we have built upon our own backs with the blessings of our gods, the old gods, the gods that were here before us and shall be here after us!"

Rhaegar nodded slowly. "I see," he said carefully. "So what do you want with me?"

Rickard smirked before getting to his feet. He turned to leave before stopping at the door. "Bloody Brandon the Blessed used the blood of a common criminal to awake our gods from a slumber of over a thousand years."

He turned his head then, and looked back at Rhaegar with a strange…hunger…in his eyes. "Imagine what our gods will be able to do with the blood of old Valyria feeding their roots…"

On that grim note Rickard Stark left the tent, leaving Rhaegar to stew on all he had just heard.


	45. Chapter 45

Tywin Lannister watched from doorway of his tent as his army drilled on the fields in front of him. The sight filled him with pride. He had built this army from almost nothing. His weakling of a father had led his house to the verge of ruin, but Tywin had built it back up. Where his house was once laughed about in taverns, it was now whispered of in fear.

And who are you the proud lord said, that I must bow so low?

Who was Aerys, Tywin thought, to demand that he bow so low?

He had insulted his house, he had threatened the legacy of house Lannister and most unforgivably he had stolen his heir. Well a reckoning was coming. Aerys had demanded his troops, and his troops he would receive.

He watched as a rider appeared on the horizon, his horse thundering through the fields of marching men. Perhaps this man brought news of the Trident. Perhaps he would tell him how he would kill Aerys. Would he die at the hand of a disgruntled rebel or by the hands of a Lannister himself?

The messenger reigned his horse in as he approached Tywin's pavilion and stopped a few feet away. Kevan Lannister, his ever dutiful brother, moved to intercept the messenger. Tywin turned away and returned into his tent. If it was of importance Kevan would let him know.

He was in the middle of pouring himself a cup of wine when Kevan finally entered.

"Well?" Tywin asked.

Kevan just handed him a scroll. Tywin took a sip of his wine before putting the cup down and grabbing the scroll from Kevan's grasp. He rolled it open and read the words written on the inside.

Rhaegar Targaryen's host was utterly defeated.

Rickard Stark managed to trap the entire host in the waters of the Trident.

Tarly's host has disappeared, assumed destroyed.

Rhaegar Targaryen's fate is unknown. He escaped the battlefield but was believed to have been caught by Rickard Stark.

The way to King's Landing is clear.

The corners of Tywin Lannister's mouth twitched. Perhaps he had underestimated The Burnt Lord. It seemed Aery's would get to die at the hands of a Lannister after all.

"What do we do about Rhaegar?" Kevan asked.

"What of him?"

"It says his fate is unknown."

"His army is broken. If he somehow managed to escape Rickard Stark he is friendless and most likely alone. If he didn't then he's as good as dead. Rickard Stark will not forget the loss of his son or the kidnapping of his daughter. If his death is anything but slow and painful I would be most surprised."

Kevan nodded before taking a sip of his own wine. "How do you think he did it?"

"Who did what?"

"Rickard Stark." Kevan clarified. "How do you think he managed to trap and defeat their entire army?"

Tywin shrugged. "I'm sure we will learn in time. What I want to know is what happened to Tarly's host. It's not just any man that can defeat Randyll Tarly in battle. He was said to have a host 20,000 men strong."

Kevan nodded. "It's almost uncanny. A host of 20,000 men doesn't just go missing."

"Regardless, this means that we can move on. Aerys's time is up. It is time he gets the Lannister troops he demanded."

Kevan nodded. "I'll go and ready the troops."

Tywin nodded. "Send me Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch when you see them. I have a very special assignment for them."

Kevan nodded and left.

He was waiting for almost half an hour before the two of them finally made their way into his presence. They arrived almost at the same time, and when Amory held the flap of cloth open that served as a door a small swallow flew in with him. It settled in the rafters of the tent, twittering and flying around before finally finding a resting place it liked and calming down.

Returning his gaze to his two soldiers, Tywin gestured for them to sit.

"We have received news from the North." Tywin began, "It seems Rickard Stark and his barabarians managed to trap and defeat Rhaegar's host. At the same time, Randyll Tarly's host has gone missing, presumed destroyed. The way to King's Landing is clear."

Ser Gregor grunted in acknowledgment before picking up the jug of wine and downing most of it in one gulp. Tywin eyed him in distaste before continuing.

"When we get to King's Landing I have a special assignment for the both of you, one that requires you to be discrete."

Amory Lorch nodded. "What do you need done?"

"When all this is done and dusted I want Lannister blood sitting on the Iron Throne. Currently there are a few people standing in the way of this."

"You want us to kill the dornish wench and her kids?" Amory asked.

"Yes." Tywin said. "They will be a threat to Robert's rule. It will ensure that there will be no challengers to Robert's rule and prove to Robert that we are loyal and trustworthy servants."

Amory nodded. "Consider it done."

"Good." Tywin said as he shifted his gaze to Ser Gregor. "And you? Do you have any objections?"

"None at all." Ser Gregor replied.

"I want this done discretely. I don't want their ghosts coming back to haunt me. Am I clear?"

Amory and Gregor nodded and Tywin dismissed them with a wave of his hand.

Tywin rose from his seat and followed them out of his tent. In the distance he could see his army packing up, preparing to move out. Soon Lannister blood would be seated upon the Iron Throne. Soon Aerys would fall, and then Tywin's vengeance would be upon him.

Robert Baratheon would be king, Cersei Lannister would be queen and the Targaryen dynasty would fall at the hands of a Lannister. It would be glorious and remind all why Tywin Lannister was a man to be feared. He had taken down his father, he had destroyed the Reynes of Castamere and soon the Rains of Castamere would be forgotten, to be replaced with the Targaryen's of Dragonstone.

Thank the gods for fools like Rickard Stark, Tywin thought, thank the gods for fools who pushed this country to war.


	46. Chapter 46

Rhaegar had been defeated. His army had been scattered amongst the waters of the Trident, his support frozen by the harsh northern winds and if the rumours were to be believed his life was forfeit. What had happened to Rhaegar himself however, no one seemed to know.

The ravens they had received all contradicted the sayings of the others. One said that he had fallen to Robert Baratheon's Warhammer, another said he had escaped and retreated to King's Landing, while other's suggested that he was Rickard Stark's captive. The most amusing one she had read so far was the one that suggested her Ned had captured him himself.

Ned was a fine warrior, but Rhaegar had been trained alongside the Sword of The Morning. Then again, she remembered what Ned had told her and Jon Arryn. If the North could field 140,000 men maybe it didn't matter and Ned had merely been the one to deliver the blow that broke Rhaegar, the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back.

Her brother had arrived a few days after she had received the first raven, seeking supplies for himself and his companions. Arthur had been absolutely broken when he read the raven. He had retreated to his room and wept like a child for ages. When he finally emerged he had taken the supplies and left without even saying goodbye.

She was glad he was hurting. He deserved to lose those he cared about like she had lost her Ned. He deserved to lose his silver prince like she had lost her Quiet Wolf.

She still mourned for what she had lost. Her child was growing within her, the last piece of him she had left apart from the bracelet of dry wood that encircled her wrist. It had been six moons since she had last seen him, and six moons since he had lain with her.

Her loins burned as she thought of the nights they spent together, entangled in each other's arms. She doubted that Catelyn Tully would ever be able to give him what Ashara had. At least Ned had loved her, and come to her bed willingly. She hadn't even had to ask him in the end, a fact that amused her to no end.

When she had stopped pursuing him was when he finally gave her what she wanted most. In her belly her child kicked and Ashara smiled down at the growing bump. She hoped that her child would have Ned's eyes, not hers. She hoped her child would have eyes of steel that would melt away to a foggy grey when stirred to love, like Ned's did whenever he looked at her. Ned would never look at Catelyn Tully like that.

Gods…where did everything go wrong. What had happened?

The pain inside was unbearable sometimes. Not from her belly, no, from her heart. Ashara wondered if anyone had ever died of a broken heart. That's what she felt like sometimes, and it drained the will to live right out of her. What was life without love? What was life without Ned?

Gods…


End file.
